


Repercussions

by JayEz



Series: Gorgeous [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Hate Crimes, I just like playing with SPN characters too much, M/M, Rape Recovery, Samifer - Freeform, Sequel, Slow Build, Technically a Crossover, Trials, and Jo and Em from Whitechapel, heavy PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 111,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to “Gorgeous”. Draco’s decision to press charges against his attackers entails more problems than he has expected, not only for himself but also for his partner.</p><p><strong>Note 10-2016:</strong> Since I'm linking to my AO3 profile from RL websites, I decided to switch Gorgeous to private. I don't want readers unfamiliar with fandom to have easy access to this fic as its content is quite krass... But anyone without an AO3 account wishing to read "Gorgeous", please email me at jay_ez@web.de for pdf or epub versions. <br/>- Love, Jay</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, dear readers! I am very excited to be back in this verse! I decided to continue exactly where I left of, so no time lapses, nothing. I hope you enjoy ☺
> 
> The main challenge for this chapter was to dig myself out of the major plot hole Lucifer dug us into. You’ll see.  
> So yeah, this chapter features a lot of Lucifer POV. I really love him, sorry^^ But since most readers were equally enticed, I guess this won’t be a problem?
> 
> FYI, there are more OCs which have been inspired by SPN. Not intended as a crossover yet the definition (I looked up) says my fic qualifies as such… Well, I really prefer crafting OCs after characters from other fandoms since they give me more to work with. So don’t mind the crossover tag, no knowledge of SPN is required. 
> 
> Thanks to my beautiful beta [ vernie_klein](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vernie_klein/pseuds/vernie_klein) and the dear [ merlenhiver](http://archiveofourown.org/users/merlenhiver) for her critique and cheerleading :)
> 
> EDIT 12-2015: **The wonderful apple-crumbler drew beautiful fanart of Lucifer for this story!** [[link to deviantart](http://sta.sh/017dznmowvqs)]

"Lucifer" by apple-crumbler

*

Lucifer prides himself on always having a plan and this Friday night is no exception. 

From the moment he learned about Draco’s romantic affiliation with Harry Potter he has been convinced that one day, the Auror would find the four men behind the assault and try to bring them to justice. And when that moment came, Draco would need a lawyer. A brilliant lawyer. 

Yet ever since the Triple M Christmas party, the brilliant lawyer Lucifer had had in mind was ignoring his very existence except when speaking to him was necessary in the line of duty. 

So Lucifer needed a plan. 

Which is why, after leaving the Ministry, he calls in a favour and makes his way to an emergency long-distance portkey. 

Destination: America. 

 

*

_“He deserved it,” Steward says, eerily calm. “He deserved everything we gave him because he is worthless Death Eater scum.”_

_The crowd applauds and Draco feels every eye in the courtroom on him, condemning, disgusted. Draco’s skin begins to crawl, he scratches but the itch remains and suddenly metal cuffs shoot out of the ground and close around his wrists._

_“He is the one who should go to Azkaban,” Stewart tells the crowd. “Take him away!”_

 

Draco wakes with a start, slightly disoriented before he remembers where he is and what day it is. The trial won’t start for quite some time he tries to reassure himself, glancing at Harry’s still sleeping form next to him in their bed at Grimmauld Place. 

At least Draco didn’t wake screaming; thank Merlin for small wonders. 

Heaving a sigh, he tip-toes into the bathroom, showers quickly and resists the urge to turn the water hotter, to scrub his skin cleaner since he knows in his mind, it will never be clean enough. 

He wanders down, unsure of what to do with himself. He needs Harry to explain the procedure he will have to endure, how charges of sexual assault will be handled by the courts, or the Aurors. As much as Draco knows about financial law, he has little idea about other fields of it. 

Releasing his breath slowly, he decides to make tea and find something to read. 

*

Consciousness returns gradually to Harry that morning. He recalls vivid dreams yet the details escape him. They might have been nightmares but he can’t say for sure. 

He rolls over, expecting to find Draco asleep next to him; only the other side of the bed is empty. Intrigued and slightly worried, Harry hurriedly puts on some clothes and ventures downstairs. 

To his relief it looks like nothing happened other than Kreacher cooking breakfast for ten instead of four. When Harry enters the dining room, he catches Jo eyeing a plate of eggs suspiciously. 

“Kreacher won’t poison you, he’s under orders not to,” Harry says as a way of greeting. 

Em chuckles, setting down his mug. “See, I told you.”

Jo still looks dubious but his appetite soon wins against any reservations and he takes a bite.

“Good morning,” Draco offers with a tentative smile. 

Harry mirrors him and adds a kiss to the cheek. “I missed you when I woke up.”

Draco shrugs. “I was awake early. Thought you could use the rest.”

Harry considers the blond for a moment, though if it was indeed a nightmare that woke him, Draco doesn’t let it on. 

After they finish eating and Kreacher has taken care of the dishes, they relocate to the living room since Draco, Jo as well as Emerson want to know what will happen next and how they will proceed. 

“I take it I need a lawyer.” Draco sounds pessimistic and Harry can’t hold it against him. 

“Lucifer told me yesterday we should leave that to him,” he explains, earning a raised eyebrow from Draco. 

“Did he?” Harry nods in affirmation. “Well, that’s… one less thing to worry about. I hope he finds a good one.”

“But the case is clear,” Em objects. “You’re not worried these bastards might walk free, are you?”

Draco doesn’t share Em’s conviction, apparently. “It’s possible. I guess Stewart – I mean, Allan Jones. He has a lot of influence and power. I’m sure he’ll have the best defence imaginable.” 

“Do you really think Lucifer would disappoint you?” Harry argues and is glad to see the spark of hope in Draco’s eyes. 

Jo is the first to break the ensuing silence. “So, how is this done in the Wizarding World? I expect you have a court which deals with such charges?”

Harry nods, straining his memory for what he learned in training in his first year. 

“I guess by now the Aurors have everything they need and they’ll hand everything over to the DCA.” At Draco’s and the Muggles’ questioning looks, he adds, “the Department for Crime Assessment. If the attacker pleads guilty, he’ll be handed over to the Wizard’s Court; they handle minor offences, guilty pleas and bail requests.”

Draco snorts. “Of course that is going to happen.”

“Chad might,” Harry reminds him. “He will if he knows what’s good for him. Might escape a life sentence that way.”

He watches Draco swallow, a brief sign of irritation flicking across his face before it is replaced by resignation. Harry understands – he, too, would love nothing more than to lock up all four of them until they die yet Chad helped them and came willingly. If he pleads guilty, the Court will be lenient. 

“And if they don’t plead guilty?” Jo asks, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. 

“Then they’ll have to appear in front of a sub-division of the Wizengamot. From what I’ve seen, it resembles a Muggle trial with the prosecution and the defence examining and cross-examining witnesses and the defendant. Well, defendants in this case. I guess there’ll be one trial for all three of them. Or four, depending on Chad’s plea.”

“How long do we have?”

“Difficult to say. With such a severe case I’d think that the DCA will aim for a quick prosecution. If everything runs smoothly, I guess they will enter their pleas in a week and then the Wizengamot will set the court dates accordingly.”

Harry watches Draco closely for any reaction but his partner seems at a loss so Harry shuffles closer and puts an arm around his shoulders. 

“All we can do now is wait until Lucifer returns; then we’ll worry about the rest, all right?” 

Draco meets his gaze and after a moment he nods, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. 

“On a different note,” Jo clears his throat, “when can I return to my flat?”

“I told the Aurors to owl me when they’re finished processing it. Shouldn’t be too long. If you want, we can come with you, help you clean up?”

“That would be very much appreciated,” Jo replies immediately and Em beams at the prospect of seeing more magic, which makes Draco chuckle and Harry smile. 

In a way, the Muggles remind Harry of himself many years ago as he first entered the world of magic when everything was fascinating and new. He just hopes that in the end, Jo and Em get to keep their memories. 

*

There are a few people Lucifer always keeps tabs on for various reasons. Crowley is unfortunate enough to be able to count himself amongst them without realising it. 

Lucifer disables the locks, wards, and traps on the door to his “secret” lair, puts everything back in place and inspects the dark flat. It is messy, the air stuffy. 

He spends the time inspecting documents lying about (or those he can read at least) concerning people Lucifer knows nothing about. A few names sound familiar, distant memories of times long left behind. Behind large folders he discovers a bottle of whisky – _well_ , Lucifer muses, _it’s whiskey over here_. 

And that is how Crowley finds him, lounging in the chair behind the desk, glass in hand and bottle on the table. The man is as small and stocky as he remembers. 

He smirks as the colour drains from Crowley’s face. 

“Lucifer,” the man manages. “What a… surprise. What brings you across the pond?” Crowley doesn’t ask how he was able to get in since they both are aware of what exactly Lucifer is capable of. 

“I require information.”

“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right guy.”

“Some things never change.”

“Information is power, which I guess you know, seeing as you’re here.”

Lucifer laughs quietly, noting with deep satisfaction that Crowley is still tense, almost afraid. Good. It will make this much easier. 

“I need to find Castiel.”

Crowley narrows his eyes. “You haven’t stayed in touch? Aw, that must have hurt your –“

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

He falls silent immediately, wincing at the cold tone in Lucifer’s voice. 

“So? Where is Castiel?”

Their eyes meet and Lucifer barely refrains from rolling his eyes when Crowley glares in an attempt to convince both of them that he is in a position to refuse. 

After a few seconds, he lowers his gaze. “New Orleans. I have an address, if you get out of the way and let me look up the file,” he tries to snap yet there is no heat behind it. Lucifer indulges him, watches how Crowley pulls out a folder and performs a few spells, which decipher the strange runes on the parchments inside. 

Lucifer may break into Crowley’s lair effortlessly; reading his secure files, however, is another story. 

“Here.” 

Lucifer pockets the parchment and Crowley raises and expectant eyebrow. 

“I’m not finished.”

The man sighs, sinking down in his chair. “Of course you aren’t. What else can I provide you with, sir?” he asks in a terrible British accent. 

“I’m looking for a man of the name of Dean Winchester.”

Crowley stares. “Why?”

“Please remind me why that would concern you?” 

“Oh, I’m just curious,” he replies, conjuring another glass and pouring himself some whisky. “Could it have anything to do with a certain Sam Winchester at that firm of yours?”

Lucifer narrows his eyes, aware that the anger is rising in his chest at the mention of the name. 

Crowley is laughing now. “Oh, do you really believe I’d lose sight of you just because you’re out of the game and on another continent? Don’t underestimate me, Lucifer.”

“And don’t underestimate me,” he growls, allowing his eyes to grow completely black. 

It has the intended effect. Crowley sobers immediately, draining his glass. 

“Yes. I know where Winchester is and you won’t like it. But I guess if you’re willing to bring Castiel into this mess, it won’t matter anyway.”

“Why?”

Crowley raises an eyebrow in a way that is far too smug for Lucifer’s liking. “He’s with Azazel.”

*

Saturday passes rather quickly for Draco. He accompanies Jo and Emerson to the flat with Harry, makes sure that everything is in order and leaves for a surprise visit with his parents. 

He doesn’t ask about movie night since he doubts his friends are in the mood after the ordeal they had. 

Before they part outside Jo’s building, Harry finally speaks up. “I’ll drop by Ron’s and Hermione’s tonight; I think I owe them a lot of explanations.” 

There is a question in his eyes and Draco’s eyes widen. “Do you want to tell them about… us?”

Harry’s cheeks redden adorably. “Perhaps. If the moment’s right? And if you’re all right with it?”

Weasley might already know the worst about Draco yet he doubts the man will approve of Harry’s choice in romantic partner. What if he tries to dissuade Harry from seeing Draco in the future? 

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, bringing up a hand to tilt Draco’s chin up so that their eyes meet. “Stop worrying. I know Ron won’t like this but I don’t care. He just has to get over himself.” 

“Well,” Draco tries to drawl, “he’s your friend. Any repercussions are yours to deal with.”

“Is that a yes?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Yes, Harry, tell your best friend that you’re involved with a Death Eater.”

“Reformed Death Eater.”

“Are you sure Weasley sees it that way?”

“I’ll make him see it that way.”

It is enough to tease a chuckle out of Draco. Harry leans in for a quick but heart-felt kiss and disappears into the crowd, leaving Draco to do the same, aiming for a place to apparate. 

*

Barely two steps through the door, hands grab him and slam him into a wall. The hold is tight; Lucifer knows without trying he won’t escape it before the man releases him. 

“Is this a way to welcome your stepbrother?” he sneers with as much dignity as he can muster. 

“Oh.” 

The hands are gone and Lucifer straightens, turning around. 

“Forgive me,” Castiel says in his deep monotone, which lacks any form of emotional inflection. It is nice to see that some things never change. Castiel’s hair is still as dark, short and curly as he remembers, and there is still slight stubble gracing his jaw line. 

“I thought you were an intruder.”

“I wouldn’t have expected any less of a professional like you.” 

“Why didn’t you write?” Castiel sounds neither surprised nor angry yet Lucifer has learned to read the man quite well in the past. There is a slight crease between his eyebrows, proving he is intrigued. 

“This isn’t a scheduled visit.” 

“What do you need?” 

Lucifer smiles. Straight to the point, how he loves this trait in his stepbrother. 

“Your expertise. According to my sources –“

“Crowley, you mean.“

Lucifer rolls his eyes at the undercurrent of contempt in Castiel’s voice. “Yes, Crowley. According to him, the person I am looking for is in Azazel’s possession.”

“And you want me to rescue this person, I take it.”

“Yes. His name is Dean Winchester.”

Castiel nods and the fact that he isn’t deterred by Azazel’s name shows how much more dangerous Castiel is compared to the petty criminal. Castiel may not be as ambitious as Lucifer yet there is a reason he is the most feared mercenary. Even if he is a mercenary with certain ethics which usually hurt the business. 

“Why do you wish to free this man?” 

“A favour. Or leverage, depending on your perspective.”

“I will require some funds if I am to be successful.”

“Of course.”

“And I will include an associate.”

“Can you trust him?”

Castiel nods. “His name is Balthazar. We have worked together on occasion. He is more of a,” he pauses, considering his next word, “libertine.”

“Castiel, in contrast with you, everyone’s a libertine,” Lucifer drawls. His stepbrother, unsurprisingly, doesn’t laugh. 

“When do you require the mark?” 

“As soon as possible. You will need to bring him to London, though.”

For the first time, Castiel’s face changes: it morphs into something akin to repulsion and Lucifer can’t hold it against him, not after how the Miltons treated their patriarch’s bastard son. 

“You know, Castiel, in due time I will start a business of my own. You might consider moving back to the Island.”

His stepbrother raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “What place do I have in an accounting firm?”

“Oh, your skills are manifold. I’m positive we might find you a place.” 

Castiel blinks, nothing about him betraying his feelings on the matter, so Lucifer sighs and lets it go. 

“As you wish. Think about it. When can I expect you to bring me Dean Winchester?”

He doesn’t shrug; Castiel never shrugs. Instead he tilts his head, considering. “If Azazel is as clever as he makes everyone believe, I doubt it would require more than a week, including preparation and extraction.”

“You’re a genius.” Lucifer pats his shoulder and Castiel follows the movement of his hand with his eyes as if no one has ever touched him before. “Let me know about the costs; I’ll cover them through our usual channels.”

Castiel nods, turning around. Lucifer takes a deep breath, not at all surprised by the cold treatment. Castiel has always been… peculiar. 

Satisfied with his night’s and morning’s work, Lucifer chances the streets of New Orleans for a meal and an emergency portkey back to Britain. 

After all, he has only completed step one of his plan. 

*

Draco’s hands are shaking almost unnoticeably when he takes a handful of floo powder to go to Malfoy Manor. His parents know he is coming; they are expecting him for coffee after lunch yet beyond that Draco has no idea how to relay yesterday’s occurrences to Lucius and Narcissa. 

Upon his arrival he finds both his parents already in the room, seated across from each other at the coffee table Draco took the picture from weeks ago. 

When she sees him, his mother immediately rises and crosses the space between them, kissing him on the cheek. 

“Draco, you look exhausted – what happened, my dear?”

He evades her worried eyes and glances at his father who looks as stoic as he always does and Draco is grateful for it.

“Let’s sit down, mother.”

An elf pours them all coffee to their liking and a heavy silence falls over the three of them. Draco picks up his cup to occupy his hands yet they are still shaking so he returns the cup to its saucer. 

Lucius notices and straightens even further in his chair, which Draco thought impossible until now. 

“Draco,” Narcissa urges him in a tone that is more distressed than commanding. 

He swallows, running a hand through his hair. “There has been a development. Yesterday I received a – “ he stops himself for saying he received a ‘call’ would only lead to unwanted questions regarding the amount of Muggle technology he owns, respectively the fact that he owns it to begin with. “I received a message from one of my attackers. They had captured a friend of mine and were torturing him. They demanded that I come to them immediately.”

“What friend?” Lucius asks. He appears to be visibly shaken by the revelation that the perpetrators returned. 

Draco evades his eyes this time. “A Muggle. He was the one who took me in after the weekend. I landed in his garden. He’s with the police, the Muggle Aurors, and he knows about wizards. He was very kind to me.”

His father remains silent. A glance at Narcissa confirms she is watching Draco with wide eyes. 

“I was at work so my boss witnessed everything. I asked him to inform an Auror friend about what was going on… Then I went to Jo’s flat – that’s the Muggle.”

Narcissa gasps but Draco soothes his quickly. “I’m fine, don’t worry. I was only alone with the attackers for a few minutes before the Aurors came.”

He allows his parents time to adjust to the news. 

“I assume these criminals are in custody?”

“Yes. I’ve decided to press charges, which is why I’m telling you about this so soon.”

“Of course we will see to it that you have the best lawyer, Draco.”

“That won’t be necessary, father. Lucifer told Ha – told me yesterday that he has someone in mind.” 

Draco’s slip didn’t go unnoticed and Lucius narrows his eyes. “May I ask, Draco, who your Auror friend is?”

He clears his throat awkwardly, inspecting his coffee cup when he confesses, “Harry Potter. We’ve been in contact lately.”

His father merely ‘hm’s, a contemplative expression on his face. 

“How did you meet?” Narcissa asks after several moments pass in silence. 

“Harry?” Draco hesitates but opts for the truth. “At my therapist’s office.”

“Pardon?” 

“He’s in therapy as well,” Draco explains, not at all trying to conceal his smugness and raising a challenging eyebrow at his father. 

“By Merlin, why?” 

Draco doesn’t dignify this with an answer; instead he merely looks meaningfully at the man across the coffee table. 

“Well, you must have a close relationship with Potter if he’s willing to come to your rescue,” Lucius states after a few seconds. 

Clearly he expects Draco to elaborate yet he isn’t quite sure how he is supposed to explain to his father that the boy he once tried to kill in the Department of Mysteries is currently his son’s lover. 

He doubts the fact that Harry is a man will cause trouble; after all the wizarding community seems to be immensely more accepting than the Muggle one as far as Draco can gather. He has, however, always been expected to continue the Malfoy line as sole heir to the family. Surely Lucius wouldn’t object to a lover if he married first to fulfil his familial duties. 

Besides, his chosen partner is the Boy Who Lived Again. This won’t sit well with Lucius Malfoy. 

Next to him on the sofa Narcissa heaves a sigh. “Draco,” she begins, taking his hand in hers in an uncharacteristic display of affection. “Is he the special someone you mentioned in January?”

Bloody hell. He tends to forget how perceptive his mother can be. 

Taking a deep breath, Draco squares his shoulders and meets both his parents’ expectant looks. 

“Yes.”

Lucius splutters. Lucius Malfoy never splutters though there is a first time for everything, Draco muses, preparing himself for the ensuing anger. 

He tunes out his father’s words, catching the important bits like “that boy” and “what about the family line” and trying to quell his anger with lacking success. When he is finished, his father is towering over him, arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“I expect you to produce an heir, son.”

Draco tries to breathe through his anger but to no avail. In that moment, all management techniques he has learned over the past weeks seem to fail him and he lashes out like he never has before. Later, he will blame it on the stressful occurrences of the previous day. 

“I don’t care!” he shouts, on his feet immediately. “You can’t possibly imagine how much I really don’t care about the family line! Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through ever since July? Do you have any idea how exhausting the next months are going to be with the trial and the questioning? And Harry is there for me; he doesn’t care how fucked up I am because of this! And you’re talking about a sodding heir?”

“Draco, language –“ Lucius tries but Draco talks over him. 

“I was raped, father! Raped! Sexually assaulted for an entire weekend and you’re seriously thinking that I’ll produce an heir any time soon? It’s taken weeks until Harry and I were able to have an orgasm together without me freezing in the middle of snogging him or having a panic attack! So don’t pester me about the blood line, all right? Because it’s not going to happen.” 

Draco stalks over to the fireplace, grabbing the floo powder a tad more vigorously than necessary. He is still fuming and the fury makes him careless, makes him use his momentum to confess every last secret he has been keeping from his parents. 

“Oh, and by the way: I have a television set. And a computer. And a cell phone. They are Muggle technology, and I like them because believe it or not, Muggles aren’t the incompetent, retarded, daft fools you told me they are. Enjoy your weekend!”

With that, he throws the powder into the hearth and leaves the Manor.

 

*

The fact that Sam doesn’t spend his Saturday evening with whatshisname lifts Lucifer’s mood immensely, which is a welcome change after he has been awake for more than 36 hours. 

Lucifer takes a moment to admire the modern apartment building in a wizarding part of London before he steps into the magical lift up to Sam’s floor. 

His mind wanders back to the one and only time he was at Sam’s flat, more than a year ago. They had been dancing around each other ever since Sam had first sat in on one of Lucifer’s meetings with Triple M’s legal department. 

Sam, the legal prodigy with a degree from Stanford which he attended on full scholarship, and Lucifer, already senior partner with an eye for brilliance and beauty – a mixture that was bound to explode. Back then, however, Lucifer didn’t have the standing he does now. Back then, leaving Triple M was not an option and when Michael and Raphael had put their metaphorical feet down, Lucifer had found himself trapped between the chemistry between him and Sam and the threat of being removed from his office. 

That night in late August, Sam was helping him work out the last kinks in a complex contract and had invited him over to his flat at the end of their day at the office when they still hadn’t been finished. 

Sam kissed him once they were, large puppy-eyes full of optimism and Lucifer crushed it, had no other choice since he still wasn’t completely certain he would manage going into business for himself. 

He shakes himself out of the memory and the melancholy it always entails. He still can’t risk it. He mustn’t be fired so close to reaching his goal. Only now it seems he might have squandered any chances he ever had with the lawyer. 

After knocking he hears movement on the other side of the door, rustling parchments – it comes as no surprise that Sam has taken work home with him. 

The door opens and reveals Sam in well-worn denim trousers and a form-fitting t-shirt that accentuates his toned physique. Lucifer might have admired the sight more if Sam’s expression hadn’t been one of scathing fury. 

“What do you want?” 

“To talk.”

“What could you possibly want to talk about?” Sam spits, not easing up on his grip on the door. 

“I’d rather not say this in the hallway.”

“I don’t care what you want. You’ve got no right to just drop by like this.”

Sam glares and Lucifer meets his eyes calmly, hoping the man will let him in before he has to lead his trump. 

“Well? What’s so important that you interrupt my Saturday night?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you not working on files for Triple M in there? Do you mean you actually have a life beyond the office?”

Sam’s expression hardens and granted, mocking him might not have been the best course of action. 

“Listen, Sam. I have information of interest to you on a personal level. You will not regret allowing me into your flat.”

The ensuing staring contest last for about a minute yet eventually, Sam backs up and lets Lucifer step over the threshold. 

The hallway opens into a wide living room with a built-in kitchen to their left and Lucifer sees doors leading to the rest of the flat. The coffee table is strewn with documents bearing the emblem of their firm and the entire space is a tad messier than Lucifer remembers but it looks lived-in like this. 

“Well, spill,” Sam demands, crossing his arms across his chest and Lucifer has to force himself not to let the bulging biceps distract him from his plan of attack. 

“I come here to propose a deal. I need a favour to ask of you and I can offer the appropriate motivation in return.”

Sam snorts derisively. “What could you possibly have that’s worth anything to me?” 

Lucifer pauses for maximum effect and is pleased to see Sam swallow in anticipation. “Your brother.”

He expected the regret that flickers across Sam’s face, the longing, the worry until his brain registers what he just heard and it turns into anger. 

“How the fuck do you know about Dean? I never told anyone!”

“You should never underestimate me, Samuel.”

“So what, you’re spying on me? Screw you, Lucifer!”

He smiles woefully. “Aren’t you worried? I gather you receive regular updates from him, postcards mostly. When have they stopped?”

“You tell me,” he grits out, hands balling into fists. 

“You’re worried and rightly so. My sources tell me that your father is missing and Dean is, well. Imprisoned, might be a fitting description.”

“He’s in jail?”

“I didn’t say that –“

“What about Dad?”

“All I know about your father is that he has gone missing and neither my influence nor that of my contacts sufficed to find out more.”

“Is Dean okay?”

“I doubt that,” Lucifer answers honestly. The effect is immediate: Sam storms off through another door – to his bedroom, it turns out – and yanks a bag out of the wardrobe. 

“Tell me where he is and I’ll –“

“You will do no such thing,” Lucifer commands, his voice low and Sam stops immediately, eyes widening when all they meet is blackness. 

“It is more complicated than you might think. Dean is in the power of a cruel and mighty demon. A lawyer is in no way the adequate leader of a spontaneous rescue mission.”

Sam’s eyes narrow after that and Lucifer sees the moment it all falls into place. “The deal. Your favour against Dean’s freedom.”

“Indeed. I’ve already made the necessary arrangements. Dean will be safe and sound on your sofa within two weeks.”

Sam nods, closing the wardrobe door, and leads them out of the bedroom and into the living room again. 

“So what do you want in return? My soul?”

He laughs heartily and their gazes meet, both recalling how Lucifer’s name inspired many jokes and puns between them once upon a time. 

“I’d only want your soul if you offered it to me of your own volition,” his mouth supplies before his brain can filter the corny comment. “I need a legal favour.”

Sam splutters. “You need a lawyer?”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “What were you thinking, sexual favours?”

The man huffs. “No, you made it abundantly clear you’re not interested.” 

He ignores the sting Sam’s word cause. “It’s not me I’m asking for. A friend needs the best lawyer I can get him and you are the brightest one I know.”

Usually, Sam ducks his head when anyone praises him yet now, he only narrows his eyes more. “Let me guess – Draco Malfoy.”

Lucifer nods. “He is facing a complex trial.”

“What’s he accused of?”

“Oh, he is not the defendant. He is pressing charges.”

Sam’s eyes widen as he puts the pieces together. “Against his attackers.”

“Yes, they’ve been caught and indicted.”

“Lucifer, I’m not an expert in criminal law –“

“I know, but you’ve excelled in law school and above all, you’re compassionate enough to turn this case in a direction that will serve us, not the bastards on the stands.”

“And I joined the firm after the Second War and was in America before that, so I’m not biased, I see.”

Silence falls and Lucifer takes a calming breath. “So, what do you say, Sam? You devote yourself fully to Draco’s case and in return I save your brother.” 

Seconds pass, then minutes. Lucifer can see the man analyse the situation, think of alternative, possible catches, loopholes until – 

“I can’t take cases outside our firm.“

“You can if they are pro bono since it’s good PR for Triple M.”

“Not if it might damage our reputation.”

“How could defending a rape victim possibly sully our image?”

Sam flinches, hesitating a moment. “It’s Malfoy.”

“Please,” Lucifer groans, “how harsh do you believe my brothers to be?” 

“Not your brothers. But I know the PR department.”

“They won’t be a problem,” he assures Sam, careful to let his voice slip half an octave lower. “As for compensation, I’m sure Draco is more than capable of paying you covertly. Or I will, if you prefer that.”

Sam still looks dubious but more amenable to the idea. 

“And Dean will be okay?”

“As okay as my associates find him.”

Finally, Sam takes a deep breath and nods decisively. “Okay. We have a deal.”

A great weight falls off Lucifer’s shoulders but with it comes the awareness of how exhausted he really is. 

“I’ll contact you tomorrow so we can set up a meeting with Draco. I’ll leave you to your documents.”

He already has a hand around the doorknob when Sam stops him. 

“Answer me this first: Why are you doing all this?”

Lucifer turns slowly, taking in the sight of Sam in casual clothes one last time (what can he say, he is an opportunist). “I told you before. I protect my own.”

“And Draco’s yours?”

“I’d do the same for my secretary Natasha.”

Deciding this is enough for the man to ponder, he leaves the flat. He apparates then and there, right to his front door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry comes clean to Ron and Hermione. Draco and Sam meet for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget – if you’re interested – to read the timestamps as well. The first chapter features the Castiel/Dean arc that’s so totally there in my head but really isn’t at all relevant to the Draco/Harry plot of this story. I hope you guys will read it but I’ll just be writing it to make me happy :)
> 
> Head canon info: Sam is 29 years old at this point in the story, Lucifer is nearing 40. Harry and Draco are both 22, going on 23. I laughed for about five minutes when I found out the SPN Sam Winchester is born May, 2nd. In a HP Crossover, that’s just brilliant^^ and for those of you unfamiliar with SPN, Sam’s 6’6’’ aka 198 cm… (Lucifer is 6’1’’ aka 185 cm)

Since Harry believes that Hermione will be considerably more amenable to the idea of him dating Draco – if she hasn’t figured it out already – Harry decides to visit the Weasley-Granger residence in the late afternoon hours. He knows how extensive the paperwork is and safely assumes Ron won’t be back from work until later that day. 

Which should give Harry ample time to ease Hermione into the situation. 

“Harry!” she greets him when he steps out of her living room fire. “Ron said you’d come.” She looks torn between worry and curiosity yet Harry can’t really tell how much she knows. 

“Did he tell you about last night?” 

“Well, only in passing this morning,” she explains as she tabs the kettle with her wand and the sound of boiling water fills the room. “He mentioned that Malfoy has been attacked and is now pressing charges but he said the whole story is yours to tell.”

He nods, feeling a tad overwhelmed with no idea where to start. 

Hermione apparently senses his predicament and takes pity on him after she sits down across from him. “Why don’t you start with telling me about yesterday?”

“All right.” He explains as good as he can how Lucifer came to his office with a message from Draco and that Harry gathered a team to stop the perpetrators before they could do real harm. “One of the four wizards, well, he sort of betrayed the others; he let Draco dive for his wand and I was able to overpower two of the others. But Jones, he… He insulted Draco and I, well, I hit him.”

“Did you hurt him?”

“I think so,” Harry says evasively, knowing that this is the understatement of the yet young year. “We took them into custody and everyone went to the Ministry to give their statements. Draco decided to press charges against the four attackers.”

Hermione rises to fill their tea cups. “I think this is not completely related to yesterday? He wouldn’t need to press charges if the Aurors were on the scene.”

Harry hesitates, wording his answer carefully. “These four, they attacked Draco before, in July of last year. It’s the reason Draco is in therapy. They decided that Draco and his parents hadn’t received the punishment they deserved so they took it into their own hands to make Draco pay for his father’s sins.”

Hermione considers him yet doesn’t interrupt. 

“As far as I know they tortured him and,” Harry swallows around the lump that suddenly constricts his throat, “raped him. It took him three days to escape them. He landed in Jo’s backyard, which is why he’s friends with a Muggle.”

Harry falls silent, giving his friend time to digest the information. 

Hermione heaves a sigh and sets his tea down in front of him. “To sum up: Draco suffered a great trauma at the hands of four fanatics, accidentally stranded in a Muggle’s garden, learned that Muggles aren’t mentally under-developed animals or whatever he used to believe, ran into you at his therapist’s office and decided to become your friend?”

“No, it was Dr Matsakins’ idea that we talk. We had lunch together and stayed in touch.”

A faint smiles plays about her lips. “Then you grew closer until eventually you fell for him.”

Harry opens his mouth but really, it doesn’t surprise him. Of course she put two and two together and found it equalled four. All he can do is nod. 

“What about him? I would assume it’s hard for him with his… background.”

Harry ducks his head, hoping he doesn’t blush too deeply. “He fell for me, too. It’s a challenge but we’re making progress. I’m not really experienced so I like it that we’re taking it slow.”

Silence falls and they sip their tea, each distracted by their own thoughts until Harry has to voice the question that is burning on his tongue. 

“So, are you willing to give Draco a chance? Or do you think I’m making a big mistake?”

She releases a long breath and Harry wishes he were better at gauging her reactions in cases like this. 

“I won’t lie to you, Harry. I’m really sorry something awful like this happened to him but I can’t just forget the countless times he called me horrible things in school and how he tried to kill us during the battle –“

“I’m not asking you to –“

“I’m not finished.” She folds her arms, shaking her head slightly to remove a stray lock that has fallen into her eyes. “I’m not completely sure you can trust Malfoy. He has proven to be opportunistic in the past. However I do admit that most of the evidence suggests that he has indeed changed and that he may even be a better man. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, Harry. You deserve to be happy.”

“But that’s the thing, Hermione – being with Draco, it makes me happy, like becoming an Auror makes me happy or like flying makes me happy.”

Her eyes soften considerably and after a few moments, she answers with a genuine smile. “Fine, I’m willing to give him a chance. Yet I’ll not believe he really is different until he apologises and means it.” 

Harry feels his body relax, relieved by the small victory. “Thanks, Hermione.”

“I doubt Ron will be as accepting, though.”

He groans, burying his face in his hands. “I know, don’t remind me.”

“Don’t think I haven’t figured out why you came so early. You just wanted to have me on your side for the big reveal.”

“You’re too clever sometimes, you know?”

They share a laugh and then decide they will brave the kitchen together to prepare dinner. The oven door has just closed behind the casserole when they hear the front door opening. Harry’s pulse quickens immediately. 

Ron stops dead when he enters the kitchen and lays eyes on him. He can see Ron’s back stiffen and his shoulders tense.

“Good. I guess you owe me an explanation, mate.”

Harry nods, leaning against the kitchen counter for support. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ron sneers, hands at his hips, “perhaps with the part where you knew of a crime and didn’t report it? Or with the part where some wanker’s comments on Malfoy’s virtue send you in such a fit that you almost beat said wanker to death? I’m guessing that’s because that bloke you’re seeing is Malfoy, isn’t it?”

Harry blinks, surprised and, frankly, a tad intimidated by Ron’s anger. 

“What, thought I’d be too daft to piece it together, about you and the snake? Well, guess what, mate, I didn’t get into the Academy because of my Order of Merlin; I’m actually a decent Auror.“

“I never said that –“

“How long were you planning on lying to us about your boyfriend? What’re you even thinking, dating that arse? It’s Malfoy, Harry!”

“He has changed, I’ve told you! He met Jo at the crime scene, remember? Draco doesn’t believe all the Death Eater rhetoric about wizard supremacy anymore, I swear.”

Ron stares at him, his disgust obvious. “Why did you talk to him in the first place? No one forced you.”

“I was intrigued.”

“You were always intrigued,” Ron snaps. “Remember sixth year, how you followed him around all the time?”

“I’m telling you, he’s different, he isn’t the same Draco we used to hate.”

Ron groans yet Harry recognises the defeated inflection. “All right, I’ll grant you he had an eye-opening experience but tell me one thing: How much did you know when we interviewed Allan Jones for the first time? ‘Cause you were awfully suspicious of him, mate.”

Harry bites his bottom lip. “Draco identified Jones as his main attacker.”

“How?”

Harry opts to stay silent. 

“HOW?” Ron barks and Harry throws his arms up defensively. 

“All right, I showed him Alcide’s memory, are you satisfied now?”

“What – you _stole_ evidence for that little snake?”

“I needed to know, Ron,” Harry pleads, “I needed the upper hand in this –“

“What you needed was to follow the rules for once in your life! Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve gone and bollocksed up his entire investigation and probably Malfoy’s trial as well when this comes out, and for what? So you could help your bloody boyfriend?”

“No one knows,” Harry says. “This will never get out –“

“Have you met Jones’ lawyers? He already has one, you know, more than one. They’re already talking about filing an official complaint against you and charging you with assault.”

“Assault?!”

“Remember how you beat the bloke bloody yesterday? Did you think you could just get away with that?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, unable to stop the exasperated groan. “I’m not sorry I did that, Ron. That piece of dirt deserved every blow, bloody hell, he’d have deserved it if I’d broken his neck!”

Ron is quiet for a moment, his eyes almost comically wide. “Are you sodding listening to yourself? I don’t even know who you are anymore, Harry! You can’t just kill a man for revenge!”

“You have no idea what that tosser did to Draco!” Harry bellows, stepping towards Ron. “Jones and his mates chained Draco up and raped him for three days, can you imagine that? They took turns fucking him and they tortured him, he bloody well has scars on his back from where they sliced him open with an enchanted knife! They broke him into pieces. Just imagine if they’d done the same to Hermione.” Two gasps echo in the kitchen and Harry points his fingers at his friend. “Just think about those four wizards attacking your wife in the same way, doing the things to her that they did to Draco and _then_ you lecture me about revenge.” 

Harry’s heavy breathing is the only noise in the kitchen; both Ron and Hermione look like they have been adequately shocked into silence. Good. Harry may not be proud of the way he handled evidence these past months but he will never regret beating up Allan Jones. 

“Well,” Ron says after long minutes, “this better never get out.”

Harry’s head snaps up and he meets Ron’s eyes, the unvoiced question hanging in the air between them. Ron half-shrugs, half-nods in a manner that conveys exactly what Harry hoped to hear: _No, I won’t rat you out_. 

“Thanks, Ron.” 

“Yeah, one day when I bollocks up you’ll do the same for me.”

Harry chuckles before he remembers the other part of the conversation and he immediately sobers. “Listen, about Draco –“

“I get it, mate. You met him at your shrink’s office and the two of you decided that you’ll get over your epic cases of PTSD together. But it’s still Malfoy; never forget that for one second. That’s the man who tried to kill us in the Room of Requirement.”

“I know, but he’s not that man anymore.“

“I don’t care, all right? You can tell me that he’s this new Muggle-loving web surfer or whatever he’s doing, but as far as I’m concerned he’s still Malfoy and he’ll always be Malfoy.”

Harry’s heart sinks. “I won’t stop seeing him.”

“Do what you like, mate, just don’t tell me about it.”

“Fair enough,” Harry concedes yet there is still a glimpse of hope that one day, Ron might come around completely. 

The magical timer suddenly jumps into life, startling them all with its loud noise. 

“Well, we made dinner,” Hermione offers and Ron huffs, already moving towards the cupboards to set the table. 

Harry runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders lighter than before. 

*

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Harry asks for the third time and Draco can’t refrain from rolling his eyes. 

“Harry, I don’t need you to hold my hand. It’s just Sam.”

“I know, but I thought maybe you needed moral support?” 

Draco doesn’t answer; he merely looks at his boyfriend. 

“All right!” Harry finally acquiesces. “I’ll go to see Teddy but if you need me, send your Patronus, promise me.”

“Fine,” he snaps, a little gruffer than planned but after repeating the same argument they had twice last night he thinks he is allowed to be a little ill-tempered. Besides, he is slightly nervous about consulting with Sam for the first time, with no real idea of what to expect. 

Harry deflates visibly and brings a hand up to caress Draco’s cheek. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m just worried.”

“Don’t be. Lucifer wouldn’t have chosen Sam if he weren’t the best for this job.”

Harry nods and brings their lips together in a chaste kiss. Chaste is, unfortunately, all Draco has been able to cope with since Friday and he tries to keep from chiding himself for this blatant step back. His mind knows that it is to be expected after revisiting his original trauma, yet he can’t shake the feeling of failure that is beginning to grip him as the days progress. 

They part and Draco takes a resolute step out of the door of Grimmauld Place. 

*

Being at Triple M on a Sunday is a novel experience for Draco. He imagined the building to be deserted and is surprised when there is someone manning the reception and people are hurrying about. Apparently, money really never sleeps and Draco faintly remembers something about a department at the firm dealing with investments in the Muggle stock exchange who have to be up all hours of the day to keep an eye on unfolding developments. 

Lucifer suggested they meet at the firm as it is neutral as well as familiar ground, which Draco is grateful for as he makes his way to Lucifer’s Realm. 

“You’re early,” his boss comments, lounging in his chair behind his desk. 

“You don’t sound surprised,” Draco replies with a smile, which Lucifer returns cheekily. 

“I was counting on it. I have a few details to go over with you, mostly concerning Sam’s payment or lack thereof.”

“Why wouldn’t I pay him?”

“A lawyer at Triple M can’t take on cases unrelated to the firm except they are pro bono and advance the image of our institution in the public eye. So you’ll have to reimburse him off the books.”

Draco nods slowly. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Good. Tea?” 

He gratefully accepts the cup from Lucifer’s house elf as he mulls over Lucifer’s words. “Will this count as ‘advancing the image’? A lot of people still don’t believe I have given up my alleged old ways.”

Lucifer deigns his remark with a look better suited for daft children. 

“What? It’s a legitimate concern. You’ve read what the press has written last week!”

His boss sighs and runs a hair through his dirty blond hair. “Draco, let me spell this out for you: You’re a rape victim. Helping you bring these bastards to justice is a good thing and whoever dares to say otherwise will be defamed by the people out there who still have a brain.”

Draco isn’t convinced but he opts to let it drop. “So, what did you have to do to persuade Sam to help? Last thing I know is you two were trying to prove to each other that you’re over the other and rather publicly at that.”

Lucifer actually winks at that. “Well, his new boy toy was nowhere to be seen when I visited him last night. And you should know by now that I have my ways.”

Draco narrows his eyes. “Well, I know that there are some clients’ files that even I don’t have access to and that I’m not even sure I want to read. I just need to know that you didn’t commit a crime for me.”

Lucifer’s eyes soften as he shakes his head, chuckling. “I should have known that I wouldn’t be able to hide those documents from you forever. In due time, Draco. As for Sam; let’s just say I was able to help him with a problem in turn for him helping you with yours. It didn’t involve any breaking of British Wizarding Law whatsoever.”

“British?”

“That’s what I said,” he replies, way too smug for Draco’s liking.

Draco would have probed deeper yet in that moment, the door opens and reveals Sam, just as tall and muscular as Draco remembers him, so he files the information away for later. 

Sam stops after he closes the door, eyes landing on Lucifer briefly, and Draco has a hard time naming all the emotions he sees on the man’s face. Anger is at least one of them but there is an undercurrent of something, something which leaves Draco a tad more optimistic about his and Gabriel’s initial plans of playing matchmaker. 

“Good morning,” Sam greets them a bit stiffly and takes the only empty seat next to Draco. 

“I really appreciate this,” Draco tells him because he was raised with manners and wants to be on Sam’s good side, considering everything. He doesn’t know where he stands at the moment. “Lucifer told me about the pro bono clause; I’m happy to pay you covertly. Name your amount and I’ll meet it.”

Sam’s eyes widen but then turn almost rueful. “You’re welcome. But I’m going to follow the rules on this one and I will do this free of charge.”

Lucifer leans forward in his chair, obviously intrigued. “You accessed his files already? Someone’s been up early.”

“Well, I’m good at my job as someone pointed out to me recently,” Sam snaps back and their eyes meet and hold for a moment. 

The tension is so thick in the room Draco is sure he could cut it with a knife. He suddenly wishes he were privy to the conversation the two men had yesterday. All in due time. 

He coughs pointedly, breaking the moment unfolding between them, and Sam’s head turns so fast Draco worries about whiplash. 

“I think Mr Malfoy and I can take it from here.” Sam glares at Lucifer with more malice than necessary yet the man takes it in stride and chuckles. 

“I’ll be outside,” he says indulgently and a moment later, Draco is alone with Sam Winchester. 

“I think you should call me Draco,” he says. 

Sam nods. “Call me Sam, then. I’m sure you have questions?”

Draco nods, straightening in his chair. “Harry told me what to expect from a procedural point of view, about the Wizard’s Court and the trial. But how will we proceed?”

“I’m afraid I need to know exactly what happened so I can build the appropriate offense. I’ve heard Allan Jones has already hired a group of highly skilled defence lawyers and that alone would prove to any jury that he’s as guilty as they come. Still, we need to be as prepared as possible.”

Draco sighs. He feared as much. Telling that Auror about the weekend in July has been hard enough and he sincerely hoped he would not have to repeat the experience with Sam.

“I know it’s going to be hard but if it makes you feel better I can issue a motion that will allow my memory of you recounting the events be entered as your testimony. Which would save you from re-living the trauma in front of the court. I’m just saying.”

Draco meets Sam’s big brown eyes (puppy metaphors spring to mind and Draco hopes for many female Wizengamot members at his hearing) and draws in a deep breath that does nothing to steady him. 

“All right,” he says, gritting his teeth, and begins. 

*

Draco doesn’t stop talking until he reaches the point where he moved into his new apartment and Sam, thank Merlin, doesn’t interrupt or suggest a break since Draco isn’t sure whether he would be able to continue once he stopped. 

“You’re currently in therapy, right?” Sam inquires and Draco nods. “How did that come about?”

“I had a panic attack at work about five weeks after the attack,” he says, knowing fully well that Sam is also satisfying his own curiosity with the question. “My boss witnessed it and he asked enough questions to get a rough idea what had happened. He made an appointment with Dr Matsakins for me and instructed me to visit her three times a week.” Sam opens his mouth to speak yet Draco has something to add, “I’m extremely grateful for that. Without Lucifer Milton, it would have taken considerably longer until I’d have sought professional help.”

Draco catches Sam’s gaze.

“Why would your boss take such an interest in your private affairs, though?” 

“I’m his associate. He told me when I asked him the same question that he looks out for his employees because he considers it his duty as their boss.”

Sam nods slowly, processing for a second, until he shakes his head almost unnoticeably and continues. “Well, let’s fast-forward a little to this Friday. Tell me in your own words what happened and why.”

*

When Draco and Sam emerge from Lucifer’s office an hour later, Draco is exhausted and grateful for the food his boss has procured. 

“I brought some for you as well, Sam,” he says with a smile and Draco watches the lawyer’s internal argument about refusing the food with interest. In the end, Sam’s stomach wins and they sit down and join Lucifer. 

“So, what else is on the agenda for today?” he asks before Draco has an opportunity to do so. 

“We need to compile a list of witnesses who will testify in favour of your case. I’ll contact them next and go over everything with them individually.”

Draco smiles at the thought of Sam contacting Emerson, who won’t be able to conceal his enthusiasm regarding anything magical. 

They finish their meal in silence and once back inside Lucifer’s office, Draco names every person he can think of who will be willing to testify. 

Josef Chandler. Emerson Kent. Harry Potter. Dr Aphrodite Matsakins. Lucifer Milton. Maybe his parents. 

“Are we done for today?” Draco is weary and tired, his limbs feel heavy, and all he wants to do is go back to Grimmauld Place and curl up with his partner. 

“Not quite,” Sam says with an apologetic smile. “As your lawyer I’m bound to confidentiality. So if there’s anything, anything at all that might compromise our case or give Allan Jones the upper hand, you have to tell me.”

Draco swallows, wondering where to start. “Well… Harry and I are… romantically involved.”

Sam’s eyes widen for the fraction of a second but he doesn’t seem too shocked. “I take it that explains why he went all old-school on Jones on Friday?”

“Old-school?”

“Um, sorry. I mean why he used his fists rather than his wand.”

Draco chuckles. “Yes. That’s also part of why he helped me. He started before we were, you know. He’s righteous like that.”

“Very well, we can try and keep this detail out of the trial to protect your privacy but it helps to be prepared, just in case.”

“Of course.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“No,” Draco lies smoothly, “nothing.” No one will ever find out, so why tell Sam?

“Then I think we’re done for the day. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” Draco says and accepts the proffered hand. 

He trails after Sam who storms past Lucifer sitting at Draco’s desk, flipping through files. His eyes follow Sam out the door and Draco is quite sure they land on his buttocks at some point. 

Draco coughs. His boss, to his credit, doesn’t startle yet merely turns. 

“I hope it went well?”

“It did. Why did you choose Sam, though? I’m sure you know a lot of other lawyers, even some who specialise in cases like mine. Why drag Sam into this?”

His implication is clear and Lucifer doesn’t pretend he doesn’t hear the undertone in his voice. 

“I know what you’re thinking but please, get your mind out of the gutter, Draco. I asked Sam because Triple M hasn’t corrupted him like every other lawyer here. He once told me he went to law school because he wanted to help people and don’t get me wrong, he has helped a lot of clients who would have unrightfully lost everything they had. People who deserve more money, however, are somewhat rare in the world of finance.” Lucifer smiles. “You’ll see what I mean in due time. I expected him to turn down any payment since it wouldn’t be right; to him, it would mean breaking the rules of the pro bono clause...”

Lucifer trails off and Draco muses that, if this were a Muggle romance film, there would be violins playing already. He suppresses a laugh since Lucifer is obviously not finished yet. 

“Besides, he received a scholarship for one of the best Wizarding Law Schools across the pond, finished his studies with top marks and has big puppy-eyes that will sway any jury, even the crinkled old hags of the Wizengamot. Don’t you worry.”

Draco bites his lips and swallows any comment he could make about the amount of feelings currently floating in the room. 

“On a different note,” Lucifer continues, either oblivious to Draco’s amusement or blatantly ignoring it, “do you need a free day tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll need enough free days once the trial starts. I doubt the Wizengamot will hold court after work hours for me.”

“You could have Sam file a motion,” Lucifer laughs, patting Draco on the back. “Then off you go and greet your boyfriend from me.”

Draco shakes his head, also chuckling, and exits the room, but not before attempting to catch a glimpse of the ominous files Lucifer has scattered across his desk. 

*

That evening, Draco huddles close to Harry on the sofa as they settle down with a movie and nothing happens between them, mostly because Draco has a feeling it wouldn’t go over well if he tried anything. 

He still has a week to worry about the initial hearing, wondering whether Chad will plead guilty or not, thinking about how long they can keep the trial out of the press, what might happen when the story is leaked, how the other Miltons will react to the news – 

“You seem to have a lot on your mind,” Aphrodite says, pulling Draco out of his head. 

“Yes,” he sighs, eventually explaining what happened on Friday and why he didn’t make their appointment that evening. 

“What made you decide to press charges?” 

“I couldn’t allow them to go free. Which they would have.”

“How do you feel about the upcoming weeks?” 

Draco glances at her and wishes that for once, a look would suffice and that Aphrodite wouldn’t insist on him spelling out his feelings. “Scared. How else do you think I feel?”

“Scared of what?”

“Reliving everything, people saying I deserved what I got – which they will, undoubtedly – losing my job because I bring negative attention to the firm … take your pick, please.”

“Can you talk with anyone about your fears except me?”

“Harry. But…”

“But what?”

“But I’m nervous. I think I’ll suffer another panic attack if I try to get close to him. We haven’t done more than kiss since Friday.”

“Draco, it’s natural that you need some time –“

“Yes, I know that but it’s still bloody frustrating!” 

“Don’t put yourself under so much pressure, Draco. Harry will understand if you explain it.”

He heaves a sigh and rises from his chair after a look at the clock confirms his time is up. “Let’s hope he will.”

*

Aphrodite’s words are still echoing in Draco’s head as he joins Harry at Grimmauld Place for dinner, and when they have cleaned up the kitchen and their dishes, Draco takes one decisive step into Harry’s personal space, backing him against the counter. 

Harry makes a contented noise in the back of his throat when their hips align and Draco leans in for a kiss. He starts out soft but soon gains confidence, quelling the anxiety still prominent in his chest as he presses their bodies closer and licks into Harry’s mouth. 

Draco’s hands roam Harry’s body, settling on his hips with his fingers dipping underneath the green jumper covering Harry’s skin. Draco feels his erection fill quickly as Harry’s breath hitches and the other man shudders underneath his touch. 

“Draco,” Harry murmurs against his lips, “I’d like to try something.”

He pulls back enough to meet green eyes, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

Harry’s cheek flush adorably. “I’d like to,” he swallows, “to blow you?”

Draco’s cock twitches against Harry’s, which is enough acquiescence the other man needs and Draco shudders as he watches his partner drop to his knees on the kitchen floor. 

Gentle hands open his fly and pull down trousers and pants. Draco is so hard by then that his cock is almost level with his stomach. 

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Harry whispers, reaching out and stroking him a few times at a luxurious pace. “I’ve never done it before so, you know, don’t expect too much, all right?”

He doesn’t give Draco a chance to respond as he leans forward and licks the slit, swiping up the fluid already gathered there. Harry traces the vein at the underside of his cock with his tongue and then finally shows mercy, wrapping his lips around his glans. 

Draco keeps his eyes open, taking in how Harry’s cheeks hollow as he sucks, how his jaw moves around his length and how Harry’s eyes drift upwards to check his reaction every other moment. 

Harry watches closely, figuring out just how Draco likes it and then following these hints, taking him deeper and deeper until his tip hits the back of Harry’s throat just as the other man swallows. 

Draco moans, feeling Harry smile around his erection. Harry moves the hand he uses to steady himself against the kitchen counter to his own trousers and it takes some time but eventually, Harry is pleasuring himself with quick strokes while his mouth is still on Draco. 

The sight of Harry on his knees, lips already swollen, with a hand on himself sends an additional jolt of pleasure through Draco’s body and before he knows it, his orgasm rips through him and he comes in Harry’s mouth, to his obvious surprise, but Harry just swallows and speeds up his strokes, licking Draco clean. 

When coherent thoughts return to his brain, Draco is on the floor with Harry who has yet to pull up his pants. 

“Not bad for your first blow job,” Draco teases and Harry shoves him playfully. 

“Well, I have to start somewhere, don’t I?” 

Draco joins into the laughter but then tenses abruptly. 

“What is it?”

He clears his throat awkwardly, averting his eyes. “I’m afraid it’ll be a while until I can return the favour.”

There are gentle fingers on his chin, turning his head towards Harry whose eyes are soft and not at all bothered. “And that’s fine, Draco. I’m serious.”

Draco’s heart clenches with how much he wants to believe that it will stay fine as long as he needs it to. He doesn’t reply; instead he huddles closer and buries his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, breathing him in, using the brief window of time they have before Draco’s body starts itching for a shower. 

*

Life goes on for Draco and he almost believes he is granted a few days of reprieve until he returns from lunch on Thursday and almost collides with Rita Skeeter. 

She was sitting in on his trial and has been rather critical of him, up until the slightly more positive words she spared him after they solved the Roth case. However, her front-page article is also what drew Stewart out of hiding and provoked him to attack Draco and his friends, so he thinks he is allowed the resentment with which he treats the woman. 

“Mr Malfoy, what a coincidence,” she purrs and Draco’s pulse rises immediately. 

“Why don’t I believe this to be a chance meeting,” he grits out but her smile only turns more sickeningly sweet. 

“Now, now, dear, don’t you be so gruff.” She pats his arm and Draco jerks away as if scolded. “Congratulations on the Roth case, I hear it’s unfolding nicely; you’ll help bring down a lot of bad people.”

“Just doing my job,” he says, trying to sidestep her without much success. 

“I’m just wondering what all the commotion on Friday was about… You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

“What commotion?” He can hear himself sound genuinely confused and mentally pats his own shoulder. 

“Oh, at the Auror’s office, and Saturday the DCA was in utter uproar and I can’t explain why. Maybe you can shed some light on the background of –“

“No,” Draco snaps, “and I have to return to work now.” He almost adds a ‘bugger off’ for good matter yet manages to bite his tongue. 

Skeeter’s eyes turn icy then. She doesn’t stop him, doesn’t call him back, but as Draco turns his back on her his stomach drops. He really shouldn’t have snapped at her…

 

*

“Can’t we, I don’t know, get a restraining order against her?” Harry grumbles later that day at Draco’s flat. “Or what’s the equivalent in our world?”

“MOP, magical order of protection,” Draco supplies as he passes Harry his favourite mug. 

“Right, let’s get on it. That woman is toxic.”

Draco can’t help but chuckle at how genuinely angry his partner is. “You really hate her, don’t you? Merlin, I think she’s almost on the same level regarding your hatred as Umbridge is.”

Harry’s eyes darken when he hears the name. “Almost. Not quite, but close. She stops at nothing to get a story and I wouldn’t be surprised if she used her special abilities to sneak into the DCA offices….”

“Special abilities?”

“She’s an unregistered animagus.”

“What’s her animal, a cockroach?”

Harry snorts. “Not quite that fitting. She’s a beetle. Hermione found out and blackmailed her into not writing anything for a year. I guess we could try that again.”

Draco sighs, running a hair through his hair. He has already considered different possibilities of silencing Skeeter, yet he doesn’t see how he could succeed permanently since “If she doesn’t report on this, someone else will and while I may condone shutting down the Prophet for my personal convenience, I doubt the Gryffindor in you could.”

“You know me too well,” Harry murmurs, sneaking a kiss. “So what are you going to do if she breaks the story?”

“Hide in the bathtub?” he quips and they dissolve into laughter which Draco is grateful for since he doesn’t have a braver answer to give. 

When they have finally caught their breath, their faces are mere inches apart and Draco can feel Harry’s breath on his cheeks. He closes the distance without a second thought, intertwining their tongues. 

Harry’s hands roam his body, stroking his sides through too many clothes, and Draco draws back from the kiss long enough to pull Harry in the direction of his bedroom. They shed their clothes on the way so when Draco pushes Harry back until he falls onto the bed they are both only wearing their pants. 

The fabric does nothing to hide Harry’s erection and the sight sends a spark of desire down Draco’s spine. How he wants, how he craves to pleasure Harry like he did to him a few nights ago… 

Swallowing hard, Draco glances up at Harry. He licks a trail up from his hipbone across his abs and chest until he reaches Harry’s throat where he bites down, eliciting a moan from the man underneath him. 

“I’m going to try something,” Draco whispers and ghosts a hand over Harry’s erection. All the answer he gets is a strangled noise and quick breathing as he watches Harry’s eyes dilate and darken. 

Draco licks his way down until he reaches Harry’s pants and in one swift motion, he pulls them down, revealing a very hard and a very beautiful cock. Draco shoves all the tiny voices in his head away, focuses solely on Harry’s ragged breathing, his own arousal, and leans forward to lick at the tip. 

He tastes bitter precome but the whimper Harry makes chases every memory from his mind so Draco does it again, more confident this time. He works himself up slowly, torturously so judging by the sounds that escape Harry. When they started this, Draco thought Harry only was so vocal to keep him in the present but by now he isn’t so sure. Perhaps Harry Potter really is a screamer. 

The thought urges Draco on; he wants to hear the moans, he wants Harry to shout his name when he comes. 

He closes his lip around the glans and bobs his head up and down, pressing Harry’s hips down with his hands and watches him arch his back in pleasure. No one has ever done this to Harry before and Draco wants to make sure he will never forget. 

So he takes his erection deeper, sucks harder, and Harry’s words turn into hisses which go straight to Draco’s cock. 

Feeling brave, Draco removes one hand from its place on Harry’s hips and closes it around the base, moving it in rhythm with his mouth. That’s when it happens – Draco increases the suction, tonging the slip while his hand glides over soft skin and suddenly, Harry’s hips jerk up without a hand holding them in place. 

Draco reels back, panic rising in his chest, nausea spreading through his intestines and he faintly hears a voice that might be Harry’s or might be not. 

_You are really good at this, gorgeous, just like I thought you‘d be._

Stewart’s voice in his head, a knife flashing before his eyes. 

_And you look so amazing with your mouth on my cock._

Draco’s eyes water and he stumbles, feels around for support and his hand lands on a door nob, _bathroom_ , he thinks, hopes, because the nausea is painful by now. 

_You’re gagging for it, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll make you gag._

Chad’s cock in his mouth, constricting his airway and he barely reaches the toilet in time. 

He doesn’t know how long he sits on the bathroom floor; unaware of anything that is happening outside his head which takes him back to July in incoherent flashes. 

“Draco, please talk to me!” 

Something tugs at the corners of Draco’s mind. 

“Draco, I’m so sorry, and I know you don’t want to see me right now but please, just tell me you’re okay!”

Harry’s voice. Harry sounds distressed. Why would he sound – 

The immediate memories return with a vengeance and he chokes back a sob and blinks furiously to rid himself of the tears that are threatening to fall. How can it be that Draco spent a weekend blowing four men and when he finally braves Harry’s erection, he can’t? 

The question enters his mind before Draco can stop it. He senses the faulty logic at work yet he can’t find an argument against it. He failed. He wanted to pleasure his partner, wanted to give him back what he had received, but he couldn’t. 

With a click, the door opens – did Draco magic it shut at one point? – and Harry enters slowly but the movement is enough to make Draco flinch. 

“Draco, it’s all right,” Harry says, voice soft.

Draco shakes his head vehemently, desperate to form words but his throat won’t work, won’t produce sounds. 

Harry flushes, then wets a cloth in the sink and holds it out. Draco blinks, uncomprehending. Harry shuffles closer and, slowly, brings the cloth up to Draco’s lips, cleaning them with a gentleness that physically hurts because it is so out of place, Draco doesn’t deserve this, he is a failure and Harry shouldn’t be here, should have left and found someone else long ago. 

“Draco, look at me, please.”

He squeezes his eyes shut so hard it hurts. 

“Please, tell me what you want? What can I do, Draco? I don’t… I want to help.”

Draco notices his body is trembling. 

“I’m so sorry, Draco, this is all my fault –“

“No,” he croaks, shaking his head. Finding his voice again opens the floodgates and Draco couldn’t stop talking if he tried. “I failed, I should be sorry, I wanted to but I couldn’t but I could with them and they’re nothing like you, I’m sorry I failed, nothing but a failure you’re too good for me…“ Draco babbles on, curling in on himself and suddenly, there are arms underneath his knees and at his back. His body seems to know it is Harry and he doesn’t flinch but it only fuels his murmurs because Harry should have run off, should have left him on the tiles yet instead, Harry scoops him up and holds him close, carries him and then eases him down, never letting go. 

Draco feels the bed sheets and sobs, clinging to Harry’s shirt. He is still only in pants and still trembling. The thought registers belatedly. Harry kisses his forehead. 

It feels as if his brain has been full of fog, which is now clearing and he blinks up at Harry who smiles down and grips him tighter. 

“Are you back with me?” 

Draco nods slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. You tried and if I hadn’t… Well, it’s a big step, Draco.”

“How is a failed blow job a success?” he snaps, extricating his limbs off of Harry’s lap. 

“The fact that you tried is brilliant!”

“Well, I couldn’t deliver, could I?”

“We’re not on a schedule, Draco.”

His answer is a frustrated groan because no one seems to get it. Aphrodite keeps telling him not to pressure himself and Harry is patient as a saint but Draco needs to be able to function again, he wants to be able to do what he likes without worrying about breaking down in the middle of it. 

“I’ll make some tea,” Harry offers, waiting until Draco nods to disappear into the kitchen. 

Harry asks Draco if he should stay after handing the second mug over. He doesn’t ask after they have both finished their tea or after Draco brushes his teeth. He simply lays down next to him, a steady presence, reminding Draco with every breath that Harry is still here, that he hasn’t left him and probably won’t for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> And #sorrynotsorry for the feels.... Vernie_klein said I made her cry at the end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry picks up the Saturday issue of the _Daily Prophet_ and promptly drops it again once he sees the headline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Villain of choice for part II – Rita Skeeter! Making all our lives miserable… 
> 
> Still, this is my favourite chapter so far. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did :)

Saturday morning Harry wakes before Draco does, the last memories of his nightmare still clogging his thoughts so he turns the shower as hot as he can stand, hoping to wash the shadows away. 

He moves around Draco’s flat easily, the motions to make tea and start breakfast second nature to him already, and with the same naturalness he takes the newspaper only to drop it again once he sees the headline. 

This can’t be happening. 

Harry picks up the Prophet again. No, the article is still there, archive photographs of Draco as well as Allan Jones illustrating the text taking up most of the front page. 

By Rita Skeeter. Why doesn’t that surprise Harry? His mug starts to quiver on the kitchen table and he breathes in deeply, trying to calm his magic down before reading what the hag has written.

 

_MALFOY ACCUSES MEN OF RAPE AND TORTURE_   
_By Rita Skeeter_

_These past days, the DMLE has been uncharacteristically quiet – which never bodes well. The Prophet’s investigations, however, have unearthed the reason underlying their silence: The Department for Crime Assessment (DCA) is reviewing serious allegations put forth by none other than Draco Malfoy._

_Malfoy, who has been keeping his head down since his acquittal after the war, is currently employed by Milton’s Magical Money where he helped senior partner Lucifer Milton uncover the biggest case of fraud in magical financial history (the Prophet reported)._

_His allegations are unrelated to the finance sector though. They concern a much more private matter: According to Malfoy’s testimony, four men broke into his flat last July and kept him at their mercy for the subsequent days. The exact charges include not only deprivation of liberty but also torture - and rape._

_The accused are four men between the ages of 32 and 47. Allan Jones is the CEO of Sensible Security Solution (SSS), where he employs Cornelius Davenport and Brett Sterling as private security personnel. Malcom Gibbs is a freelance ward specialist who sometimes works at SSS._

_The DCA has approved the case and will hold an initial hearing on Monday, February 3rd. Here, the defendants have the opportunity to enter their plea._

_Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy has not commented on this turn of events and neither have his bosses at Triple M. The Prophet will continue to investigate._

Harry is still staring at the page, envisioning the cruellest way to end Skeeter’s live, when Draco enters, his hair still damp from the shower. 

“Harry?”

He swallows and holds the paper out wordlessly. He watches Draco’s eyes widen as he takes in the article’s content, colour draining from his face. 

“Well, we knew it would happen sooner or later. Although I would have preferred ‘later’,” Draco says, voice nonchalant but trembling slightly. 

Harry blinks at him. “Why are you so calm?”

“Because if I’m not, I’m going to hunt that witch down and burn her!” Draco snaps, gripping the counter top firmly. He draws a deep breath, closing his eyes, and Harry is there immediately hugging him from behind, pulling their bodies close. Draco sags against him, letting his head fall back on Harry’s shoulder. 

“We’re going to get through this, Draco,” he swears, “You’re in the right here, no one else.”

Draco doesn’t reply, instead he turns in Harry’s arms so he can bury his head in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry tightens his arms, wishing he could protect his partner from the backlash that will undoubtedly follow the article. 

*

Lucifer hates being ordered into Michael’s office. He much prefers to receive his scolding in his own realm whenever his brother feels the need to yell at him for minor blemishes. 

Yet here he is, knocking on the managing partner’s door without hesitation. After all, he has nothing to lose and everything to gain. 

“You know,” he drawls, drawing Michael’s attention, “I had such grand plans for my morning and you just had to send me an owl and ruin them.”

His brother doesn’t smile. In fact, he looks angrier than Lucifer has ever seen him before; even angrier than when Lucifer decided he wanted to return to the family business. 

“Have a seat, Lucifer,” he grinds out. 

Lucifer obliges him, lounging as much as possible in the uncomfortable chairs. He just hopes that they are softer when Michael is buttering up clients. 

“So?”

“You know why you’re here.”

“Because you sent me an owl, stating that my immediate presence is required. It sounded so urgent that I almost forgot to put on my clothes.” 

“Don’t get coy, Lucifer.”

“Well, then stop beating about the bush.”

Michael’s answer is nonverbal: He floats a piece of parchment onto the desk, which Lucifer immediately recognises as this day’s Prophet. 

He raises an eyebrow. “So?” He might as well enjoy this. 

“You know exactly why you’re here,” Michael snaps, the vein in his temple starting to pulse. “When did you plan to mention this?”

“Preferably never since I knew you’d react like a scared maiden.”

“Don’t insult me in my office, _brother_. Besides, it’s you who should be scared.”

“Why? I’m not the poor sod on the stand on Monday.”

It is a struggle to repress his smug smile at the sight of Michael’s quickly reddening face. Suddenly, his eyes turn fierce and his smile vicious. 

“All right, brother. If that is how you want to play this game, I’ll play along.” Michael rises from his chair behind his desk, rounds it and looks down on him, practically seething with fury. 

“You failed to mention that your employee was going to sue four men, one of whom is incredibly powerful and affiliated with some of our clients, by the way, for nothing less than rape. You knew how the press would twist this case, you knew it would be this firm that was going to be caught in the cross-fire of opinion concerning Malfoy’s Death Eater status, you knew this case would damage our image and might even cost us a few clients. And yet somehow you deemed not telling us the right course of action. So let me make this situation entirely clear to you, _Lucifer_.” 

Michael draws himself up to his full height and Lucifer gives him the satisfaction and swallows in fake-fear. 

“If this trial only marginally damages the reputation of Triple M, I will fire you, your little pet, and that lawyer whom you undoubtedly roped into helping you pro bono. And then you can return to the hell from whence you came and we’ll never hear from you again.”

Lucifer pretends to ponder this for a few moments. “It won’t come to that, Michael. Draco is the victim here. Anyone with half a brain will see that he’s right and that those four monsters deserve to spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban.”

“And you would know all about monsters, wouldn’t you, dear brother?” Michael sneers and Lucifer can’t hide his wince. 

“Well, takes one to know one,” he shoots back, feeling the anger burn in his chest. Lucifer desperately wishes he could show Michael up, make a threat, prove to his brother that he is in fact the one who has the upper hand, but he doesn’t. He can’t. No one can find out before it is time. 

“Your warning is noted, Michael,” he says instead, nodding deferentially and walking from the room with quick steps. 

*

Draco is considerably calmer after he meets with Sam. 

“It’s unfortunate that the story broke so early but it doesn’t change what we’re doing about it,” he says, picking up his tea from Draco’s coffee table. 

“Which is?”

“Nothing. They didn’t get anything wrong so there’s no need for you to comment. Besides, they don’t even have the right to report on on-going DCA investigations to begin with.”

“You mean there’ll be consequences for Skeeter?”

Sam’s eyes turn softer. “I’m sorry, but no. Nothing more than a reprimand which won’t stop that woman.”

Draco groans and considers drowning Skeeter in his tea when he catches her in her beetle form. 

The rest of the meeting passes quickly. Sam informs him that all the testimonies have been sorted out – even his parents will take the stand which surprises Draco somewhat – and that they will begin training their witnesses once they know who will stand trial. 

Before he leaves, Sam turns back and starts to speak but hesitates. 

“What is it?” 

“When I spoke to Lucifer this morning to make sure he will testify, I caught him coming back from a meeting with Michael. He hasn’t told you anything about that, has he?” 

Draco shakes his head. “No. What could it mean?”

Sam shrugs yet Draco spots the fake nonchalance immediately.

“What do you know?” he asks, stepping closer (though not too close because looking up at Sam will give him a stiff neck before he can say Quidditch). 

The question clearly makes the lawyer uncomfortable but Draco stares at him until he relents. 

“Well, perhaps Michael thinks the trial will hurt the firm’s image.”

“Lucifer said it won’t.” 

“Lucifer just said that to placate you.”

“What?”

Sam’s look says more than his explanations ever could. 

“So it’s a genuine possibility that the senior partners decide the trial – meaning me – is a threat to the firm? What will happen then?”

Sam runs a hand through his long hair, heaving a sigh. “They could demand that you stop the trial.”

“No way. I can’t stop now.”

“I know that and let me assure you that I support you fully. I said I’ll help you and I won’t break my word.” 

Draco blinks at the confession. Sam must be even more righteous than Draco previously thought. “And if I don’t withdraw the charges when they ask me to?”

“They will fire you.”

“Lucifer won’t –“

“Lucifer won’t have any part in the decision-making process, Draco,” Sam replies curtly. “He’s not almighty, you know.”

“Why didn’t he tell me this?” 

“You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

*

An hour later, Draco steps through the doors of Triple M, having sent his Patronus to ask his boss to meet him half an hour ago. Unsurprisingly, Lucifer is already in his office and Draco takes the open door for the invitation it is. 

“What’s wrong, Draco?” Lucifer asks as soon as Draco has closed the door. 

“I had an interesting conversation with Sam today.” His boss doesn’t react, so he barges on. “According to him, if the media backlash becomes greater, there is a chance that your brothers will fire me because I ‘blemish the firm’s image’.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes yet his expression remains otherwise unchanged. “Did Sam say that, now.”

“Yes, because apparently, you didn’t deem it necessary to inform me.” Draco aims his most accusing glare at his boss and waits for an answer. 

Lucifer considers him for a full minute. Draco wonders what thoughts are passing through his head for he looks like a man solving the problem of world hunger. Heaving a grave sigh, Lucifer throws his hands up. 

“All right, I confess.” He rises from his chair and rounds his desk, meeting Draco’s glare. “I knew that the media would exploit this trial for all it’s worth. There will be supportive journalists but there will be just as many who won’t be on our side. They will print scathing letters from readers, write even worse articles, pester you about interviews, the works. And sooner rather than later, Michael and Raphael will team up and fire you, Sam, and me.”

“You? Can they do that?”

“Yes, they can.” Lucifer doesn’t look bothered in the slightest. 

“What is wrong with you?” Draco bursts out. “This is my future on the line and you’re standing there like it’s nothing! I thought you cared about your own, that you cared about Sam –“

“I didn’t lie,” Lucifer cuts across him, “and if you listened to me, you would understand why this, all this,” he gestures with is hands, “is fine. This is all going according to plan.”

That stops Draco short. He blinks at his boss, uncomprehending. “What plan?”

“Answer me this,” Lucifer begins with the air of a teacher, “what happens to the clients you had when you leave this firm of your own volition?” 

It takes Draco a second to switch topics as easily as Lucifer just did, but he provides the answer, indulging his boss. “Nothing; the non-compete clause ensures that I can’t steal them away.”

It earns him a smile. “Exactly.” Suddenly, Lucifer’s eyes turn mischievous. “And what happens to said non-compete clause when you are sacked instead?”

Realisation hits Draco harder than a bludger. “It becomes mute. When they fire me, I could take on clients that used to be mine at Triple M.”

“Exactly.”

“You want them to fire us.”

“Yes.”

Draco feels a spark of hope, almost excitement ignite in his chest as he pieces the puzzle of Lucifer’s manipulations together. “Because all the talk about starting your own firm – that wasn’t hypothetical at all, was it?”

“Nope. I’ve been planning this for years now. Going into business on my own, however, is complicated and expensive. I needed to know that we would make it because I can’t take this step and then fail; I won’t give my family the satisfaction.”

Lucifer looks incredibly smug in that moment and Draco can’t begrudge him that. However, there is still one question unanswered. 

“What about Sam? They’ll fire him, too, if he doesn’t stop representing me. Does he know about your grand break for freedom? Because I hardly think he would agree to go into business with you.”

“He will when it’s his only option.”

Draco stares at him. “Only option?”

Lucifer heaves another sigh and slumps down on his desk. “Do you want the full story or the abridged version?” Before Draco can reply, Lucifer answers the question himself. “Well, as future business partner, I think you deserve the whole story.”

Draco watches as Lucifer’s face changes into a portrait of regret and hurt, realising suddenly that he is probably about to hear the story behind the wreck that is the Lucifer-Sam relationship – or lack thereof. 

“Sam joined Triple M five and a half years ago in 1997. He was a prodigy, had vast knowledge of the law, was good with clients and, more importantly, he’d return my witty banter when I teased him unlike all other new employees who’d look like they were suffering through a heart attack and just stare at me in fear. We worked together often during the next few years, and we had chemistry; Merlin did we have chemistry. He eventually made a move and I had to turn him down.”

Without his confident exterior, Lucifer looks somewhat broken and Draco feels immense pride and honour when he realises that Lucifer decided to let him see this side of him. 

“So you turned him down because you’re his superior?” he asks, sure there is more to the story.

Unsurprisingly, Lucifer shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have cared. Michael and Raphael, however…. They told me plainly that, should I make a move on Sam Winchester, they would fire me. Back then I didn’t have the standing I have now. Leaving Triple M and starting my own firm was just a plan at that point, nothing concrete.”

“So you turned Sam down and he has been acting like the hurt puppy ever since. Until the Christmas party.”

A smile ghosts across Lucifer’s face. “Yes, I might have been a little rough on him, threatening to keep his mouth shut about you… For all I know is he got jealous or something equally absurd, or for all I know it was his time of month. Ever since that night it has become clear that anything between us is over.”

“Lucifer, I’m –“

“Don’t you dare apologize.”

Draco swallows his words down, turning his boss’ words over in his head. A few moments later, he speaks up. “So if he hates you now – which I still doubt, by the way,” he adds in his favourite Malfoy drawl, “how could you convince him to help? I don’t see what would motivate him this much.”

At this, the man actually smirks. “Well, young Malfoy, you still have much to learn from me. I used the one thing Sam cares about more than anything else in the world: family.”

Draco raises a questioning eyebrow, hoping Lucifer’s sharing mood won’t stop this soon. Now that he has access to previously well-hidden information, he wants to make the best of it. 

“Sam Winchester has a big brother and a father. He left them when he was 18 to get his law degree and hasn’t seen them since, although he and his brother sometimes talk on the phone and Dean sends postcards. However, three months ago, their father vanished and a few weeks later, Dean was kidnapped and has since spent his time elsewhere. I offered Sam to have his brother rescued and delivered to him in exchange for his legal services.”

Draco’s heart jumps into his throat. “And you have the power to do that? Simply break a man out of, what, prison?”

“You won’t learn more than I am prepared to tell you, Draco, so don’t try to manipulate my answers.”

Draco, thank Merlin, doesn’t blush. 

“But yes, I have the power. I have connections.”

“From before you joined Triple M?”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “I see your boyfriend has looked up my Auror files.”

Draco’s cheeks redden at that, however. 

His boss chuckles. “Well, yes. I had a life before I came here and certain parts of it have permeated my life at Triple M.”

Lucifer meets Draco’s eyes with an imploring gaze and Draco feels like there is something he should get, a connection he should make between Lucifer’s criminal past and – 

“The files!” he almost half-shouts before he lowers his voice and only then remembers the soundproofing charm. “The sealed files only you have access to. The clients… They’re criminals, aren’t they?”

Lucifer smiles broadly and slowly raises his hands and starts to clap. “Well done, Draco.” 

It could have been a mocking gesture yet Draco sees the genuine pride in his boss’ expression and his own chest swells. 

“I need to make one thing clear, however,” the man continues. “I’d like to think of them more as ‘unsavoury types’ rather than criminals. Their crimes don’t concern the financial part of their operations, if that relieves your conscience. They are filed under fake identities and only I am allowed to deal with them. Yet, if we are going into business together, I thought you needed to know about it. Which begs the question – are we going into business together?”

The ‘now you learned the ugly truth’ goes unsaid and Draco’s mind explodes, considering scenarios until he realises he is worrying about nothing. “The fake identities. There is no record of you knowing who those people really are and I’m sure there is a clause in their contract, stipulating that you are the only person to deal with their finances.”

Lucifer rewards him with another proud smile. “Exactly. Plausible deniability. I knew there was a reason why I stole you.” 

Draco swallows around the lump in his throat and takes a deep breath. “Lucifer, you’re the only one here who ever gave me a chance. We work well together and a few shady files don’t scare me off. I’m a Malfoy, I can weasel my way out of anything.” There is almost no bitterness in his voice. Almost. “So yes, I’ll still gladly go into business with you.”

“Good.”

“Is there anything else I’d need to know? I mean, while we’re having this moment of truth… Any more dark secrets? You’re not actually the devil, are you?”

Draco laughs nervously. It doesn’t escape him how his boss doesn’t and Draco’s blood freezes in his veins. 

“You’re not, are you?”

Lucifer shakes his head quickly. “No, not quite.”

“Not _quite_?” Draco repeats, feeling unease overcome him and the first signs of real fear. 

“Draco, relax, please.” 

He breathes in deeply in an attempt to soothe his nerves. 

“I won’t tell you the entire story, so don’t ask. Ever. Are we clear?”

Draco gives a jerky nod, eyes trained on Lucifer. 

“I’m not entirely human. I have some special abilities, most of them affecting my magic and my bodily strength. It’s not extraordinary, yet as it is a rare condition. It frightens people, which came in handy before I returned to the family business and which is why my contacts from back then are still eager to please me.”

He pauses, allowing Draco some time to process the information until his immediate fear has faded. 

“If you’re not human – what are you?”

“Not entirely human, Draco.”

“Semantics.”

“Semantics that are important to me.” Suddenly, Lucifer’s eyes turn black – completely black, the colour filling the white of his eyes as well as the irises and Draco jerks back in shock. 

He doesn’t yelp. He doesn’t. 

“I’m part demon,” Lucifer says, eyes back to their natural blue. 

“Demon?” Draco repeats – again – once his voice has returned. 

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Stop trying to be a parrot, please, it makes you look rather daft. And no, I’m not going to give you a crash course on demonology. You can consider that homework, or just forget about it, I don’t care. Just don’t tell anyone, and that includes your precious boyfriend and your psychiatrist for that matter, understood?”

Draco nods, still slightly overwhelmed. 

After a few minutes of silence, Draco glances at his boss, noticing the expectant look. Right. 

Draco clears his throat. “Well, all right. Thank you for telling me.”

Lucifer raises a triumphant eyebrow. “Does that mean we can start brainstorming for company names?” 

“Definitely,” Draco replies, smiling at the hand his boss and future business partner holds out to him. 

Meeting Lucifer’s eyes, Draco shakes his hand, both of them eerily solemn.

*

Draco keeps his word and doesn’t tell Harry about Lucifer’s very real, very supernatural side. He doesn’t mention the ‘unsavoury’ clients either – the less Harry knows, the less complicit he will be considered to be should the entire situation escalate one day. 

That night, they are careful with each other, hoping to avoid a repeat of Thursday’s catastrophic blowjob. Draco straddles Harry on his bed, hand wrapped around both their erections, stroking in a steady rhythm, unhurried. 

Harry is still breathing hard after Draco worked both of them close to the edge before slowing down again, and this time he intends to do the same. He twists his wrist, rubbing his thumb over both their slits, spreading the beads of precome that have gathered anew. 

“How long do you think I can draw this out before you beg?” he drawls, increasing his rhythm and Harry shudders deliciously. 

Draco watches his Adam’s apple move with his throat as he swallows and the sudden urge to kiss him there is overwhelming. Draco leans forward, licks the light sheen of sweat right off Harry’s throat and is rewarded with a strung out moan. 

“Kiss me,” Harry pants and it is more a request than an order. 

Draco devours Harry’s mouth until he can feel Harry getting closer to the edge, almost too close and he pulls back again. The man beneath him groans in frustration. 

It only takes another try until Harry gasps, “Please, Draco,” so breathless and wanton that he can’t resist. Draco is stroking in earnest now, has trouble keeping his hips still as pleasure builds low in his stomach. Another twist of his wrist has Harry cry out and shooting all over his own chest. Harry looks beautiful like this, completely unguarded, flushed with desire, mouth open in a long moan and it does Draco in, rips his orgasm from him so hard that it becomes difficult to hold himself up. 

He collapses onto the mattress next to Harry and simply basks in the afterglow, focusing on the sated feeling inside him instead of the few drops of quickly drying come that have hit his torso. 

“You want us to shower together?” Harry asks, sounding as if he is already half asleep. 

Draco’s heart jumps into his throat and he tries to swallow it down again but it won’t budge. He desperately wants to say yes, step under the jet of water with his boyfriend, but… He feels goose bumps covering his arms and shakes his head without meeting Harry’s eyes. 

“It’s okay,” Harry says immediately and there is a gentle hand tilting his face. Draco meets his gaze and sees nothing but understanding in the green. “You want to go first?”

Draco nods, yet before he rolls himself off the bed, he presses a soft kiss to Harry’s lips, hoping the gesture will convey how grateful he is. 

*

Monday comes quickly. Harry can see how tense Draco is in the morning, his grip on the tea mug just a little tighter than usual, his neck stiff. Carefully, Harry slides his arms around Draco who saw him coming – Harry made sure of that. 

“Their pleas won’t be made official until late afternoon, Draco. Stop worrying.”

“Easier said than done,” his partner grumbles, leaning back against him. “At least I’ll find out in time for my session.”

“Should I bring take-out on my way over? Your favourite, to celebrate however it ends?” 

Draco nods, his cheek almost brushing Harry’s because of the movement, then turns around and kisses him gently.

*

Work is tedious at the moment. For a week all Harry, Ron, and the rest of their team have been doing is go through the files they took from Sensible Security Solutions. In the light of Jones’ arrest, Robards granted them more time to invest in the case, yet somehow the results still elude them. 

“The key has to be with the Prosecutors,” Harry insists when they are all going for lunch. “That bastard knew how to compartmentalise his crimes.”

“And how’re we’re going to get to them, huh?” Graham argues. “Alcide’s out of the picture and if Jones really is the man pulling the strings, we won’t find anything as long as he’s changed his address to a holding cell.”

“He’s right, mate. Maybe we need to face the facts.” Ron looks resigned and Harry can’t blame him. 

“Look, we still have a few files to go through. And if that doesn’t turn anything up, we’ll come up with a new way to work the Prosecutors angle,” Harry suggests yet all he receives is half-hearted shrugs. 

*

Harry is still sulky when he reaches Aphrodite’s office and spends long minutes complaining about the on-going investigation. 

“And how was your weekend, after you saw the article?” 

Harry shrugs eloquently. “Draco spent Saturday with his lawyer and with Lucifer; I had lunch with the Weasleys.”

He hopes to be able to leave it at that – he is in no mood to talk about his feelings and especially doesn’t want to relive the incredibly awkward dinner at the Burrow.

Aphrodite, however, merely raises an eyebrow and Harry knows immediately he won’t get away with such a vague answer. 

“It was terrible. Awkward. They had read the Prophet, obviously, and Ron probably told them it’s true. And they were all looking at me, I guess trying to think of a way to ask me about it without prying, and I just wouldn’t say anything. I left pretty soon.”

“What are you so worried about they’ll ask? About the nature of your relationship to Draco?”

“Well, what am I supposed to tell them when they ask?”

“The truth?”

“That I’m dating the son of a Death Eater? A man, atop of that? I don’t want….” Harry trails off, the mere thought of Molly’s reaction frightening him a little. 

“What don’t you want, Harry?” 

He breathes in deeply, telling himself it won’t make him feel better if he lashes out against his therapist. It won’t, no matter how appealing it is at the moment. “I don’t want to lose the only family I have.”

“That is understandable. But don’t you think that the Weasleys' love you like a son and would never cast you out? Did they cast George out?”

“That’s different – he’s with some fit bloke from America. I’m with Draco Malfoy. His father almost got Ginny killed!”

“Harry, it’s your decision whether you’d like to tell them or not. However, think about how they would feel if somehow, the Prophet broke the story and they wouldn’t have heard it from you first.”

Harry turns it over in his head, realising that it might be a genuine possibility, the media finding out about them. What then? 

“I’ll think about it,” he promises Aphrodite who smiles at him. 

*

Harry distracts himself by working out until Draco returns, having put a preservation charm on the containers on his kitchen table, so when the time comes to apparate to Draco’s flat, the food will still be edible. 

The front door is ajar when Harry reaches it and for a second, he panics. Yet once inside, he sees that the slippers are gone – perhaps Draco simply left the door open so that he wouldn’t need to get up. Get up from where?

Harry tries to not run into the flat and probably fails. He stops dead when he catches sight of Draco on a stool at the kitchen counter, a bottle of whisky – or Scotch, Harry has no idea – in front of him along with two glasses. One of which is has already been filled and drunken from. 

“What happened? Are you..?” Harry asks taking in his partner’s grim expression. 

“I’m fine. Just needed… I don’t know. Something stronger than tea.”

“All right... Is the second glass for me?”

Instead of answering verbally, Draco pours Harry a few inches and slides it across the countertop. Harry tries it hesitantly and is quite surprised that he likes the taste. 

“It’s good.”

“One of my father’s birthday gifts. Every year it’s either scotch or wine.”

They sip their drinks in silence and through all that time, Harry is burning to ask how the hearing went, if they pleaded guilty or not, yet he doesn’t want to pressure Draco - he is clearly in a peculiar state. He will tell Harry once he is ready. 

Harry observes the other man over the edge of his glass, noticing how beautiful Draco is even in his bad mood. A few strands of blond hair are falling into his face and Harry has to resist the urge to brush them back.

“Chad pleaded guilty,” Draco says eventually, his tone hard and bitter. “He got nine years.”

“Only nine?!”

Draco nods, a smile cold as ice on his lips. “He didn’t resist arrest, hell, he even helped. Or at least that’s how his lawyer twisted it. He also said that he was the one who enabled me to flee in July. So he’ll spend nine years in Azkaban. Then he’ll be free.”

“They can’t do that!” Harry asks, incredulous. “After all that he did – I mean, he deserves to rot in prison just as much as the rest of those bastards!”

Draco doesn’t rage, doesn’t explode and his cold demeanour sends shivers down Harry’s spine. 

“They can. Chad made a deal. Sam warned me this could happen and it did.”

“Can you, I don’t know, make an appeal? Have the case re-opened?”

Draco shakes his head vehemently. “He pleaded guilty. It’s done. It’s over.” He gulps down the rest of the liquor and grabs the bottle for a refill. 

“But there has to be something we can do! Do you want me to pull some strings? I’m sure if I talked to Kingsley-“

“Harry, I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” Draco snaps, setting down the bottle with a loud _clung_. 

“I’m just trying to help!”

“Well, stop!”

Harry swallows down his retort and instead grabs his whisky, emptying the glass in one go. On second thought, that might not have been the best idea since the alcohol sends him into a rather embarrassing coughing fit. 

Once Harry has recovered somewhat, he meets Draco’s eyes and the tension is broken with his partner dissolving into laughter.

“Yes, Draco, laugh at the heathen who can’t handle his liquor.”

He watches the blond shake with laughter until he has caught his breath again, yet the energy changes once more. With sagging shoulders, Draco buries his face in his hands. 

“What if Stewart and the rest get off this easy as well?” Draco whispers so softly that Harry almost doesn’t catch it. “What if they don’t have to go to prison at all?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Harry insists, moving closer and rubbing Draco’s shoulder soothingly. 

“How can you be sure? Steward has a group of lawyers; Sam said they’re really good- ”

“I know it because it’s just. The Wizengamot won’t be blinded by horrendously expensive lawyers – they will see the case for what it is and send those bastards to Azkaban and throw away the key.”

“I wish I could share your optimism, Harry.” 

Draco sounds resigned and Harry feels the urge to punch Allan Jones all over again. Break his jaw or something. Crack a rib or two. 

“No matter what happens,” he says instead, stepping into Draco’s personal space, “we’ll get through this. You’ll survive because you’re incredibly strong and no matter how this trial ends, it will be over. For good. And I’ll still be there.”

Draco finally looks at him at that, eyes open and insecure but he leans up the last few inches, closing the distance between their lips.

“Thank you.” 

“You’d do the same for me.” 

Draco raises an eyebrow. “No, I’d leave you behind to face it on your own,” he deadpans, though Harry can hear the fondness in his voice, exposing the statement for the lie that it is. 

“Come on, let’s watch something fun on the telly,” Harry suggests and pulls on Draco’s sleeve. 

“You just want to cuddle on the sofa.”

“You can always say no.”

“I think I can enable you one more time tonight.” 

They chuckle and settle down on the couch, Draco half-draped over Harry and he hopes that at least for the rest of the night, Draco can ignore his worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I big, heartfelt THANK YOU to all who've been reading and commenting! Your reviews really motivate me and make me smile (or do the Dance Of Joy in my appartment....) so seriously, folks, it's much appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stewart goes free on bail, much to Draco’s and Harry’s chagrin. Yet the latter has more to worry about than his partner’s rapist on the loose…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for Harry but he dug his own grave… 
> 
> Also sorry for the week delay! RL got in the way, big time. However, I crossed paths with another great plot bunny for a Harry/Draco fic! 
> 
> Well, I almost took for granted that there were Macbooks in 2003. There weren’t, fyi. The first MacBook was released three years later; before that they were called iBooks and already really pretty (yes, the author is a mac-user and projecting this onto her story).
> 
> **Warning:** a lot of donuts, so if you have issues with food, beware a bit.

“Don’t forget to go for lunch,” Lucifer warns him on his way out of the office. “I’ll ask Natasha later, so don’t try to lie to me.”

“As if I would ever lie to you,” Draco shoots back, returning the rueful smile his boss is wearing. Lucifer is on his way meet with a client – a meeting Draco would have accompanied him to, if it weren’t for Skeeter’s article last Saturday. 

“Well, you could try – and fail.” Lucifer chuckles and heads out the door, leaving Draco behind in the room with Natasha. 

“I’m sure it will pass, so don’t let this pull you down,” she says before going back to whatever it is a secretary does all day. 

Draco shrugs eloquently and focuses his attention back on the Hammersmith documents. 

*

It is long past his lunch break when Lucifer returns bearing a box of donuts. 

“Early this week, I know, yet I have good news,” he proclaims as soon as he has their attention. “Shirley’s Sweetest Temple has agreed to accept your presence, Draco. So I’ll have you with me next week. Donut?”

He presents the box and Draco can’t help smiling. “Thank you. What did you have to bribe them with?”

Lucifer shoots him a shocked look. “I’m deeply wounded that you would think something like that of me.” Draco raises an eyebrow without comment. “As a matter of fact, Mrs Temple herself inquired about your whereabouts.” 

His boss says it with a certain leer that leaves no doubt as to why the lady would do something like that and Draco groans in annoyance. “Bloody hell, I forgot how big of a cougar she truly is…”

“What’s a cougar supposed to be?” Lucifer asks. 

“Why is she a puma?” Natasha wonders and Draco snorts. 

“It’s a Muggle term, referring to an older woman interested in younger men.”

“But Mrs Temple is married!” Natasha protests immediately yet her face falls when both Lucifer and Draco shoot her a look that clearly reads, “So what?” 

“I thought that was a MILF,” Lucifer muses, prompting Draco to shake his head. 

“No, that’s an American abbreviation for ‘Mother I’d Like to Fuck’.”

Lucifer shrugs and grabs a glazed donut. “I don’t care how you define her; the main point is that she likes looking at you during meetings. So there.”

Draco wants to be offended until he finds he really isn’t. Mrs Temple only looks and never tries anything and if his presence helps secure a client’s happiness, all is well. 

He is about to steal the Boston cream from right under Lucifer’s nose when there is a knock on the door. After a brief “Enter” from Lucifer, it opens and reveals a lot of shaggy hair. 

“Sam,” Lucifer greets him, “donut?”

Sam’s expression suggests he is seriously thinking about having the man committed. Lucifer merely shrugs and offers the box to his secretary. 

“I need to talk to Draco for a moment,” Sam finally says and Draco’s stomach drops. His lawyer might be trying to control his features yet Draco sees right through his clumsy attempts. 

Something has happened. 

“You’re free to borrow him. Why don’t you use my office since I’m still preoccupied with these goodies.”

“Be careful that Gabriel doesn’t see you or the box won’t be yours anymore,” Sam quips. Lucifer smiles, genuinely smiles, which Draco has hardly ever seen him do. It seems to have a disarming effect on Sam, who splutters out a “Thank you” and makes his escape into the proffered room, Draco at his heels. 

“What is going on?” he asks as soon as the door clicks shut. 

“There is no easy way to say this,” Sam opens and Draco glares. “Bottom line is – Allan Jones was released on bail today.”

“Excuse me?”

“He has brilliant lawyers. He paid 950 Galleons but he is out of prison for the time being.”

“But what if he – “

“I haven’t exactly been kicking my heels these past hours,” Sam interrupts and to hear the British idiom spoken with an American accents sounds somewhat weird. “I’ve filed an MOP and Jones won’t be able to go near you, Harry, Jo, or Emerson for that matter, so this might be a setback but it’s no reason to worry about your safety.”

Draco heaves a relieved sigh. MOPs – Magical Orders of Protection – are complicated spells that will render the person it is issued against unable to approach the witch or wizard the MOP is protecting. Or the Muggle, apparently. 

He knows Stewart is a powerful wizard but he doubts that he will succeed in circumventing the MOP without Aiden there to disable the wards – Draco has learned by now that Aiden, or rather Malcom Gibbs, was the one responsible for disabling the wards of his flat back in July. 

He glances at Sam, originally to show him that he has calmed down yet something in his lawyer’s eyes catches his attention. 

“Is there more?”

“Unfortunately.”

*

Harry has just finished making tea in the Aurors’ break room when he hears a door slam shut. He tenses immediately yet when the newcomer passes the open break room door, it is only Gawain Robards. 

Who walks past, then returns and steps through the doorframe, his gaze focussed on Harry. 

“Potter,” he barks, and several new recruits sitting around a table across the room flinch when they hear the rough tone. “In my office. Now.”

Harry swallows. This doesn’t bode well. 

Robards has already gone so Harry takes a second to gulp down most of his tea and hurries after him. 

“What’s going on, mate?” Ron pops his head out of their shared office. 

“Damned if I know,” Harry replies over his shoulder and then he bursts through the door to Robards’ office. His boss is pacing, which is never a good sign. 

“You wanted to see me?”

The man stops, his face turning scarlet with rage. “I’d like to hit you over the head with that broom of yours, that’s what I really want to do,” is his answer and Harry takes a precautionary step back. 

“What happened?” Harry tries again, belatedly adding, “Sir?”

Robards looks at him for a moment, the vein in his neck pulsing, and for a terrifying second Harry wonders if somehow, his boss found out that he is romantically involved with Draco and is now going to fire him. 

The truth, as it turns out, is almost as terrible. 

“You’re facing a battery charge.”

“I’m what?” Harry’s mind starts reeling, trying to come up with an instance during the past weeks when he used disproportionate amounts of violence. 

“You’re being accused of battery because you beat someone so hard before arresting him that you broke his nose and split his lip. On the job. Under my watch.”

Realisation dawns on Harry dreadfully slow. Stewart. He beat up Stewart and can’t really remember it, only Draco’s voice shouting his name and immense satisfaction at the sound of bones breaking. 

Harry straightens, meeting the Chief Auror’s gaze. “He deserved much more than that.”

Robards positively growls. “I know he’s a wretched rapist but that doesn’t give you the right to abuse your power as an Auror, bloody hell! You’re an employee of the DMLE and reflect on the Ministry of Magic, Potter! You can’t go breaking people’s noses on the job and think that’s all right!”

Harry ducks his head in fake deference. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry won’t cut it! There’ll be a disciplinary hearing on the 21st of February and you better be on your best behaviour until then. We can only hope that that Skeeter woman won’t find out too soon or you can look forward to one sodding smear campaign. I’m tempted to suspend you myself until the hearing if that didn’t raise too many questions!”

Harry releases the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “I’ll behave, I promise,” he assures Robards in his sincerest voice. 

“Yeah, yeah, better see to it that you’re making some progress with the theft cases,” he grumbles and waves at Harry, dismissing him. Only an extensive amount of self-discipline marks the line between hurrying out of the room and fleeing from it. 

*

The moment Harry reaches Grimmauld Place, the fire in the floo comes to live and spits out Draco, hair slightly dishevelled. 

“I heard what happened,” he opens without preamble. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry shakes his head, meeting his partner’s worried gaze. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You stopped me. If you hadn’t, I’d be facing murder charges.”

“Still.” Draco steps closer tentatively and when Harry nods, puts his arms around him. 

They remain like this for a few minutes before Draco speaks again. 

“Well, your hearing will take place before my trial. At least it will give me something else to worry about,” he jokes, yet it falls flat. 

“When’s your first appointment in court?” Harry asks, deflecting only a little. Draco’s raised eyebrow tells him he wasn’t nearly smooth enough, though his partner doesn’t comment on it, merely allows the change in topic. 

“Probably at the end of March, if we’re lucky. These things take time.”

“On the other hand you’ll have more time to prepare.” 

“And more time to fret.”

Harry chuckles, still amused and strangely happy that the once so reserved and controlled Draco Malfoy openly admits to being worried in his presence.

*

_Tuesday, 4th February 2003_

_Allan Jones pays highest bail in British History_   
_By Rita Skeeter_

_Allan Jones, CEO of Sensible Security Solutions and prime suspect in the rape trial involving former Death Eater Draco Malfoy, has been released on bail._

_Jones paid the record sum of 950 Galleons in full, according to the DMLE’s official statement, and the information has already caused heated debates. Many have criticized the Wizard’s Court’s decision to set bail in the first place. “Buying one’s way out of prison when facing a rape charge should be banned,” says Heather Irving, one of the members of the Wizard’s Court who voted against the release._

_“Being accused doesn’t mean someone is guilty by default,” argues Jasper McCarthy, Irving’s colleague. “Yet we saw the necessity to set the payable sum extremely high since the accusations are this grave.”_

_The consequence was that neither Malcom Gibbs nor Brett Sterling were able to afford release, contrary to their fellow accused._

_Besides having to come up with 950 Galleons, Allan Jones won’t be allowed to leave the country until the completion of the trial. It has also come to the Prophet’s attention that Sam Winchester, Malfoy’s lawyer, has already requested a Magical Order of Protection (MOP) against Jones, which has been granted. The MOP not only applies to Malfoy but also to three other wizards, the identity of whom has not yet been revealed. It is obvious, however, that the additional MOPs concern important witnesses to the case and that Winchester fears for their safety with Jones on the loose._

_Or is it just a fluke? A manoeuvre to convince the public of the truthfulness of Draco Malfoy’s accusations? As the defendant has yet to comment on the topic, nothing but speculating remains._

*

A few days later finds Harry cooking spontaneously in Draco’s kitchen since Jo and Em are currently investigating the killing spree of what appears to be a brutal and clever serial killer. 

“Lucifer wants to come by tomorrow,” Draco says out of the blue when they are almost finished. 

“So we can’t go flying?” Harry tries not to be too disappointed. The Weasleys are visiting Bill and Fleur over the weekend, so there was no one Harry could play Quidditch with until Draco volunteered to race him for the snitch (even though, as Draco pointed out, he is completely out of practise and it will in no way be a fair competition). 

“We can; Lucifer will drop by after. He says he has a few things to go over regarding,” Draco pauses and Harry notes how his shoulders have straightened slightly, “regarding his own firm.”

“You mean ‘your’ firm, as in both of you, right?” Harry remarks with a teasing grin. The first time Draco told him about Lucifer’s plans he was incredibly smug, yet the arrogance has given way to an adorable modesty which Harry is still getting used to coming from the former Slytherin. 

On second thought, he probably shouldn’t ever mention that he thinks of Draco as ‘adorable’. 

However, it is just so fitting when Draco blushes just slightly as he does now. “Well... Perhaps he can stay for dinner?”

Harry grins. “Oh, so you want me to cook?”

“Obviously. If I cook, he won’t be alive long enough to even lose his job,” Draco drawls. 

“All right. But I need to be compensated accordingly.” Harry sends his partner the dirtiest look he can fathom, hoping to convey his intentions. 

To his satisfaction, Draco’s eyes darken and he licks his lips. “Actually, I might have something in mind I wanted to try… I think you’ll enjoy it tremendously.”

Suddenly, Harry’s mouth is rather dry. “W-what’s your plan?” he manages to stutter and Draco positively leers at him. 

“Why don’t you go ahead into the bedroom and undress while I clean up the kitchen and then I’ll show you?”

Harry is out of his seat in a heartbeat. 

*

Draco can’t deny he is nervous when he approaches his bedroom. Behind the door, Harry is probably waiting on the sheets, already naked and hard. Draco swallows. 

He wants to do this; hell, he needs to do this, needs to prove himself that he can, that he isn’t completely broken, that Stewart didn’t take everything from him. 

This is something neither of the men did to him or forced him to do to them, so Draco is tentatively optimistic that he will be able to perform without panicking. 

Drawing another deep breath, he opens the door. As expected, Harry is sitting on the bed, cross-legged and obviously nervous, his cock already erect. 

“You’re so fit,” Draco blurts out, cursing himself for being so pathetic. The way Harry blushes, however, is definitely worth it. 

“What’s your plan?” Harry asks, voice deep with arousal. 

“You’ll see.” Draco smirks, watching his partner swallow in anticipation. “Turn around; lie on your stomach.”

Harry complies without hesitation and the blatant display of trust sends a jolt of pleasure through Draco’s body that goes straight to his cock. He undresses quickly and strokes himself a few times, eyes trained on the rippling muscles in Harry’s back. 

Draco climbs onto the mattress and palms Harry’s cheeks, sending a shiver up the other man’s spine. 

“Spread your legs,” he orders and Harry shuffles around until Draco can expose him without problem. When the first bout of air hits Harry’s hole, Draco hears a strangled noise and sees how Harry buries his face in a pillow. 

“Don’t be ashamed,” Draco soothes, running a finger down the cleft of Harry’s arse. “You’re beautiful.” 

Harry only burrows deeper in the pillow. 

Draco takes his time, needing to build up his courage and calm his nerves, teasing Harry’s soft skin. His touches are feather-light at first yet once he grows bolder he circles Harry’s perineum, trying to relax the muscles. 

With one last look at the mop of dark hair near the headboard, Draco closes his eyes and licks a stripe across the pucker. 

Harry positively yelps.

Draco repeats the movement, keeping the pressure low and soon he elicits a low groan from his lover. 

“Fuck, Draco….” 

Encouraged, he dips his tongue deeper, eventually breaching the tight ring of muscle and the knowledge that he is the first to ever do this to Harry makes his cock twitch. 

Draco grips Harry’s buttocks firmer and delves in deeper, mapping the velvet skin meeting his tongue. The noises Harry makes are downright filthy so he doubles his efforts, pushing in and pulling out at an increasing pace. Draco looses himself in the feeling of Harry around his tongue, the highly erotic taste in his mouth, and moves one hand around Harry’s waist. 

The moment it makes contact with his erection, Harry whimpers, apparently slightly overwhelmed and unsure whether to thrust back onto Draco’s tongue or forward into his fist. 

Draco smiles against his hole and sucks teasingly, feeling with satisfaction how the cock in his hand jumps. 

It may have been minutes or even hours until Harry shudders, arching his back, yet Draco cherishes every second, loving the way his partner falls apart underneath him. Harry climaxes with a guttural moan and Draco withdraws his tongue, gripping his own neglected erection. 

He is almost painfully hard and it doesn’t take much – four, five, six strokes before his own orgasm washes over him and he collapses onto the bed, careful to avoid the wet patch. 

Next to him, Harry is breathing heavily though his eyes are open and he considers Draco with something akin to awe. 

He raises an eyebrow. 

Harry chuckles. “I’ve read about this, but I wasn’t sure… If anyone actually did it.”

“Well, I’m not just anyone,” Draco drawls but the corners of his mouth are curling upward already and a few seconds later, it splits into a broad grin. 

He did it. He rimmed Harry within an inch of his life and had an orgasm himself without freaking out. 

Sure, something could still have gone wrong; an uncontrolled jerk of Harry’s hips might have triggered Draco but nothing like that happened and Draco feels so happy he could burst. 

He smiles radiantly at Harry and it takes him a moment or two, yet then Harry’s narrowed eyes widen and he returns the smile, grasping how big a success this was. Draco steals a kiss before he swings himself off the bed and disappears into the bathroom.

*

Harry surveys the kitchen, developing a strategy which will make sure that eventually, all meals are ready at the same time so the dishes don’t lose too much of their taste while under preservation charms (that Harry is still terrible at). 

When he hears the bedroom door open and close again, he pushes Draco’s mug of tea across the kitchen isle and is rewarded with a soft kiss from the blond. 

The entire scene feels so domestic that Harry’s heart swells in his chest and he feels warmth spread through his body. 

“I’ll be in the living room and out of the chef’s way,” Draco jokes, causing Harry to roll his eyes good-naturedly. 

The doorbell rings a few minutes later and Harry can hear Lucifer’s voice carrying through the hallway of Draco’s flat. 

“Interesting neighbourhood you moved into,” the man drawls though Harry hears Draco chuckling. “Nice apartment you have there, though.”

“Thank you,” Draco replies as he pushes open the door that reveals the kitchen to his left and the living room with sofa and TV to his right. Harry is busy stirring so he doesn’t see where exactly Lucifer’s eyes are drawn but he can feel the moment they land on him. 

“Mr Potter, what a surprise.”

“A positive one, I hope?” Harry raises his eyebrows, noting that the man has left his formal robes at home and instead has chosen to wear something more casual. 

“Definitely,” Lucifer answers without hesitation. “I know for a fact that Draco’s cooking would have led to a visit with St Mungo’s poison ward.”

“I never told you I can’t cook,” Draco cuts in but his boss merely laughs. 

“You wouldn’t have to buy your food every day if you were able to produce something edible on your own.”

“Not for lack of trying, though,” Harry adds. “I tried to teach him but he’s hopeless.”

“Thanks, Potter, for this slight against my masculinity,” Draco snaps, half-playful, half-serious. 

“Oi, I’m the one wearing the apron in this room, who’s emasculated now?” Harry shoots back, noting the smile curling around Lucifer’s lips. 

Draco’s eyes sparkle as he smiles at Harry before he excuses the two of them. Their way isn’t far, only a few metres across the open room to where the sofa and an armchair as well as freshly-made tea are waiting. 

Harry listens with half an ear to what they are talking about while he wrestles the rest of the ingredients into compliance. He could use magic, he knows, but after years and years of cooking by hand at the Dursleys’ he doesn’t feel like he is actually cooking when using his wand. Somehow, it feels like cheating. 

From what he understands, Lucifer and Draco are negotiating about the sum Draco will contribute to the firm in order to become junior partner to Lucifer’s senior and managing one. The money comes from Draco’s Gringotts account, which is considerably larger than Harry’s ever was or will be, for that matter. 

‘Ancient pureblood aristocracy’ is how Draco explained his wealth, a concept that Harry will never fully comprehend. Hermione certainly would, on second thought, yet Harry isn’t in the mood for a history lesson from his best friend. 

Once they have settled on a price, Lucifer presents his plans for the firm’s structure. 

“At the beginning, it will only be you, Natasha, hopefully Sam, and me and since we won’t have that many clients, it won’t be a problem. Yet once things kick off and the exodus from Triple M truly begins, we will need more employees.”

“There are still a few months until graduation, Lucifer.”

“I know.”

“Ah. You want to steal those, too.”

“Of course; however, not from Triple M, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen anyone close to qualified.”

Harry snorts at the arrogant tone in Lucifer’s voice. From what he heard from his partner, Triple M is the most prestigious accounting firm in the country and they only employ the best. 

“How much more qualified can employees get?” Draco voices his thoughts across the room. 

“Draco,” Lucifer chides, “I don’t want office drones who can’t think for themselves, let alone outside the narrow corporate box my brothers believe to be the key to successful accounting.” 

A pause. Then, Draco says, “On that note – how do you feel about computers?”

Harry almost drops the knife he is holding and chances a glance towards the men, catching Lucifer as he blinks at Draco. 

“Computers?”

“Yes.”

“Muggle technology?” The scepticism oozes out of every pore of Lucifer’s body and Harry shakes his head, chuckling. Sometimes, it is incredibly easy to pick out the purebloods in Wizarding society. 

“Yes. I believe adapting some of it might make operations run a lot smoother and faster, especially considering we will be only two accountants, one secretary and perchance one lawyer in the beginning. Besides, using computers will set us apart from every other firm in this country. I’ve read that some in the States are experimenting as well, but over here, no one has gone that far yet.”

Harry watches for Lucifer’s reaction but clearly, the jab at the uniqueness his firm would attain made him bite. 

“Fine. Show me what exactly you mean.”

Shaking his head, Harry returns his attention to the hearth. He may not be the expert on computer technology but he at least has seen one and knows how they work, thanks to a very greedy Dudley who always wanted the newest model in his teens. 

Draco is still showing off his iBook when dinner is ready and Harry wanders over to the two businessmen. Lucifer’s posture has lost some of its weariness as he watches Draco explain certain features and how they could be used to enhance productivity.

“So e-mail actually works faster than owls or interdepartmental memos?” 

“That’s what I’m telling you!”

“I always thought that was a joke.”

“Everyone thinks it’s a joke, except for those who’ve tried it,” Draco explains animatedly. 

Silence falls and all eyes rest on Lucifer who seems to be calculating advantages and disadvantages in his head. 

“You know that most wizards and witches won’t understand this. Then again, we don’t need to call attention to it.” Lucifer releases a breath, nodding with determination. “All right. Let’s revolutionise the corporate Wizarding world.”

Draco’s smile is so radiant that Harry has trouble restraining himself from snogging him in front of his boss. 

*

The meal passes quickly and once they have polished off desert as well – Lucifer’s praise of “Harry, you’re a very good house-wife,” was followed by a playfully soft stinging jinx – they retire to the sofa once again, Lucifer taking up the armchair. 

“The only thing we haven’t discussed,” the wizard says, sipping his scotch, “is the company name.”

“What’s wrong with ‘Milton and Malfoy’?” Harry wonders out loud, earning him a condescending gaze from both is partner and Lucifer. 

“Please,” Draco snorts, “another alliteration. I honestly believe that all the big accounting firms have a secret pact that requires them to take on some daft name, like Aneas’ Amazing Accounting, Ravensmith’s Respectable Resources… what’s next, Balinor’s Bumbling Budget?” But Draco isn’t finished. “So what would we be? Milton’s and Malfoy’s Malicious Monetary Machinations?”

Lucifer actually burst into laughter at the suggestion. “Oh please,” he manages before another fit takes over. “That’s priceless, let’s take it.”

“No!” 

Harry can’t help find the alarm in Draco’s voice and the horror displayed on his face adorable. 

“Perhaps Harry has a better idea?” Lucifer suddenly asks and all Harry can think of is, “M&M’s?” which makes him laugh so hard no one would ever take his suggestion seriously. 

“Why’s that so funny?”

“M&M’s are colourful candies, sorry, ignore me,” Harry gasps and Draco pats his arm in mock concern. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your pills soon, darling.”

“I see, there is no way to take this seriously, is there?” Lucifer speaks up again, having recovered from Draco’s suggestion. 

“Well, what would you call it?”

“All I could come up with was L&D, short for Lucifer and Draco since I doubt having the Malfoy name in the firm title would inspire that much confidence; no offence.”

“None taken. But it’s a tad boring, isn’t it?” 

“Well, it’s all we have so far. Unless we have any more ridiculous suggestions?”

“Money Eaters?” Draco suggests with a smirk, though the suggestion doesn’t even deserve so much as a comment, apparently.

“L&D it is for the time being. Let’s hope Natasha’s mind is more creative.”

“When are you going to ask Sam, by the way?” Draco throws into the room and Harry notes how the air around them grows a few degrees colder. 

“When the need arises,” is Lucifer’s curt reply and Harry decides to defuse the situation. 

“How many clients do you have lined up so far?”

“A few. They will follow me as soon as I leave Triple M.”

“That’s good.”

The rest of the evening passes amiably. Harry wouldn’t have expected Lucifer to stay that long; he thought the man would be all about business and then disappear again, yet Lucifer surprises Harry when he engages him in a detailed analysis of the Ministry’s policies.

Lucifer seems to think that Kingsley is still a tad too soft, does too little to really turn the country upside down since prejudice and intolerance still abound, especially concerning werewolves and other half-breeds. 

It’s late when Lucifer eventually bids them good night and Harry can finally lean in and claim the kiss he has been craving for hours. 

Draco hums contentedly, slipping his arms around Harry’s torso. 

“Your boss is unexpectedly nice.”

“It was a bit weird, wasn’t it?”

“Why?”

“Usually, Lucifer is never nice to people who aren’t his clients. Or his favourite minions.”

“Perhaps he thought he needed to secure my endorsement? That otherwise, I could sway you to, I don’t know, quit your career in finance?”

Draco shrugs, nuzzling Harry’s neck lazily. “Maybe.”

The alcohol makes them tired and even though they share a few heated kisses once they are on the bed, they lack the usual drive. 

Harry catches himself smiling into Draco’s hair, relishing the feel of the man half-draped across his body, close enough that Harry can feel his heartbeat. 

He might still be nervous about the disciplinary hearing, worried about Draco’s trial, the media backlash and fearing anyone exposing his relationship to the brilliant blond next to him… Yet somehow, the weight is lighter tonight. 

Whatever happens, he will still have Draco and fall asleep next to him. Strangely, that thought is immensely comforting. 

*

Friday, 14th February 2003

_Allan Jones back in custody_   
_By Rita Skeeter_

_It has been little over a week since Allan Jones has bought his freedom and was released on bail. The CEO of Sensible Security Solutions is facing serious rape charges, which he will have to defend himself against at the end of March._

_Now, however, another department has issued a warrant for his arrest: Yesterday, the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Finance (RCMF) took Allan Jones in. According to our sources, it has to do with the fraud case of Elias Roth that Lucifer Milton and Draco Malfoy uncovered in January._

_As it seems, money that Roth embezzled found its way into Sensible Security Solutions. Whether Jones in his function as CEO knew the money was dirty and what said money was used for remains unsettled._

_The RCMF announced that Jones will have to stand trial in only a few weeks, so answers to these questions should follow soon._

_If Alan Jones will be able to post bail is yet to be announced._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s bad to end here, but a slight cliffhanger? I couldn’t resist!
> 
> Also, I’m a tad unsure about the rimming scene, if it wasn’t too much for Draco to be realistic/within the realm of the feasible - but hard times are ahead for the boys, so I decided to run with it anyway :) 
> 
> **Regarding the next update:** I hope that I'll have chapter 5 ready next week. Can't promise it, though, because RL is a tad annoying right now, and, well, I'm simultaneously writing a new Harry/Draco AU... and it's totally the fault of a seminar I took at uni! Damn them for giving me fanfic ideas ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry achieves progress on the job yet another gush by Rita Skeeter makes everyone’s lives a lot more difficult than they already are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a bit of Valentine’s Day fluff. Sorry, couldn’t resist. Things are going to get serious really soon, so I have to allow the boys to indulge in the good stuff while they can.  
> (and omg, I just realised that it IS Valentine's day next week. What a coincidence. Anyone else going to ignore it? Because I will. Like every year.)

No one is more surprised to see Sam in Lucifer’s office two Mondays after his brother has been returned to him than Lucifer himself. 

Especially since Sam isn’t wearing a suit but jeans, shirt, and jacket since he has taken a few personal days to spend time with his brother. 

“Sam,” Lucifer greets the man, schooling his features as he walks past him to his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lucifer makes sure to make his tone suggestive and ambiguous, if anything just to annoy the younger Winchester. 

“I have a favour to ask.” 

“And you think I will comply out of the goodness of my heart?” he sneers; yet Lucifer isn’t kidding anyone, least of all himself or Sam. 

“No, because you need to stay on my good side.” Sam’s jaw is set and considering his build, he would look dangerous if it weren’t for the early morning sunlight reflecting in his hair. 

When Lucifer neither contradicts nor encourages him, Sam continues. “Dean wants to find our father but he has no clue where to start. He’s sure, though, that you could help with that.”

“So you’re here to pump me for information?” He grins suggestively, eyes sparkling and practically asking for Sam to make a pun using his remark.

To his disappointment, all Sam does is nod, upholding eye contact. And as high as the lawyer thinks his guard is up, it isn’t high enough for Lucifer. 

“It must hurt, having your brother back for such a short time before he wants to run off again.”

“I didn’t ask for your thoughts, Lucifer,” Sam snaps at him, “just for your help.”

“I’ll do my best if you answer my question.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

“Fine: Are you hurt that Dean wants to take off again and leave you behind like you left him behind all those years ago?”

For a moment, Lucifer thinks Sam might actually hit him. His hands are balled into fists yet he doesn’t take a swing, as much as he apparently wants to. Lucifer almost wishes he would. 

“A little,” Sam grits out. “But it’s not like I thought he’d stay with me permanently.”

Lucifer wants to probe deeper yet refrains. Should his plan work and Sam end up working for L&D after all, Lucifer will make Sam pour his heart out and Lucifer will be there to put everything back together. 

Until then he is going to stay silent. 

“So, will you help or not?”

“I’ll put my feelers out. Or, you know, horns.” The terrible pun is worth the try when Lucifer sees the corners of Sam’s mouth curl upwards. 

*

Harry is sleeping surprisingly soundly this Friday morning until his bedroom door bursts open. 

“Harry, wake up!” someone shouts and Harry is out of bed, wand at the ready in no time. Belatedly he realises that he is aiming it at his boyfriend, who is staring at him, eyes wide. 

“Draco, what are you doing here? How late is it?”

“Around half six, not that it matters, because – look!” 

He tosses something onto the rumpled sheets. Harry picks up the Daily Prophet and stares at the front page, which is sporting a large picture of Allan Jones. Flanked by RCMF guards. 

“Bloody hell!” Harry skims the article, his heart starting to race inside his chest. This could be their break. What if the money wasn’t meant for SSS but for the Prosecutors? It’s nothing more than a hunch yet Harry knows instinctively that he is right. 

He has to get to work as soon as possible. 

“Thanks!” Harry tells Draco and is almost through the bathroom door when he spins around and steps close once more, pulling the blond into a kiss. 

“Anything to get the bastard,” Draco replies with a smile. “Good luck!” 

Harry showers in record time and reaches the Auror office at seven. He begins to compile the paperwork necessary for them to be allowed a look at the files the RCMF has on Jones and it takes him an hour to realise that he completely forgot the date. 

Valentine’s Day. 

Damn. They have reservations at the Glasshouse in Richmond at seven and Harry still needs to buy flowers. Well, he wanted to buy flowers and wasn’t sure if she should so he consulted Hermione. 

“Of course! I’m sure no one has ever given him flowers before!” 

So Harry had planned on buying flowers. The likelihood of him making the reservation on time, however, is rather low at the moment. 

Ron and the rest of his team are so excited about the new development that they all dive right into the files and when two o’clock rolls around, an employee of the RCMF appears in their doorway bearing even more documents. 

The woman is a tall brunette with a friendly smile (Harry can see Hollande drooling over her the moment they notice she’s there). She holds out the papers with a wink. 

“You can thank me later.” 

Puzzled, Harry accepts them and scans the files. Then his head snaps up so fast he is surprised he didn’t break anything. 

“You’re joking.”

The woman shakes her head. “Not at all. Turns out that Roth may have been clever when it came to his own transactions but not so much when it came to those concerning Allan Jones.”

Harry can’t manage a coherent thought. He is holding personal notes of Elias Roth, or rather copies of the original; though that doesn’t diminish the impact these pages will have on their investigation. 

“Thanks,” he stammers but the woman doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Name’s Miranda Abbington, RCMF. Don’t send me flowers; I’m more of a whiskey girl.” 

She winks again and leaves but Harry hardly notices as he shows his colleagues the pages upon pages of incriminating evidence. 

“You’re saying the bloke was actually daft enough to jot down when he was giving Jones which sum of money with a neat little ‘Prosecutors’ note next to it?” 

“I’m not telling you, Ron, I’m showing you the evidence. It’s all here.”

“So now we can link Jones to the Prosecutors. No more excuses about investigating the husband of a client. That tosser! We’re coming for you, Jones!” Graham declares, punching the air victoriously. 

There is even more paperwork to fill out and petitions to be filed with the Wizengamot. Harry delegates the tasks and then ducks out of the room. 

“Where’re you going, mate?”

“Have to take care of something, I’ll be quick!”

*

Draco refuses to admit that he has spent the morning eyeing the flowers on Natasha’s desk with envy. He didn’t know that she has a partner, an admirer or anything of the sort, although he will probably be excused since he had a lot on his mind these past weeks. 

Still, the flowers are annoying and by early afternoon, Draco is angry with himself. Also, having spent half the night tossing and turning thanks to a particularly vivid nightmare doesn’t help.

Another thing that is detrimental to his mood is the insecurity about tonight. Draco can’t say if Harry even remembers the date or their reservation. Well, he’ll just have to wait and see. He can’t go ahead, unfortunately, since Harry wouldn’t tell him where he is taking him tonight. A surprise, he said. 

“Why the long face?” Lucifer quips. “Is it because no one sent you flowers?”

Draco glares. “What about Sam? Got him anything?”

Lucifer’s expression hardens for a second and Draco isn’t the least sorry about it. 

“The heart of a virgin for his annual sacrifice to whatever god that makes his hair so shiny,” his boss bites back and drops a stack of documents on Draco’s desk. 

Once Lucifer’s office door has fallen shut, Draco catches Natasha’s eye. 

“Was that really necessary?” she asks. 

“Yes,” he answers petulantly. “Perhaps if I annoy him enough he might actually make a move.”

“It’s not the right time yet.”

Draco’s response is a non-committal sound and he buries himself in work, of which he has plenty. They have started copying files to avoid having to request their new clients’ files from Triple M once they have their own firm up and running. Lucifer wants to drag out the moment his brothers realise what is happening as long as possible. 

It’s about four o’clock when he is interrupted by a knock on the door. Natasha is already sliding out of her chair to open it so Draco doesn’t look up from what he is doing.

What captures his attention, though, is the bouquet of flowers a deliveryman is placing on his desk a moment later. They are beautiful – a variety of colours and shapes and one red rose in the middle of it all. 

“Please sign here.”

It takes Draco a moment to understand the implication but then he accepts the pen the man is holding out for him and signs. 

“This card is also for you,” Delivery Bloke says, placing the item next to the flowers that are hovering in the air given the lack of a vase. 

Draco tips the man well and wandlessly conjures a vessel while he is already tearing open the envelope. 

_Dear Draco,_

_I’m sorry I was in such a hurry this morning. Don’t worry about tonight – I’ll be there on time. Please meet me at Kew Gardens tube station at seven. Dress nicely._

_Yours,_  
 _Harry_

Draco’s mood has miraculously improved (something Lucifer refuses to comment on, just like he ignores the flowers when he emerges from his office an hour later) and the first thing he does when he reaches his flat after work with half an hour to get ready is open his iBook and google which restaurants are near Kew Gardens tube station. 

He comes up with the Glasshouse and settles on his best suit. He may have to spend a few extra minutes in the bathroom to apply concealment charms in order to hide the shadows under his eyes, but Harry doesn’t need to know that. 

At seven sharp, Draco steps out of a side street and looks around for his partner. Harry taps him on the shoulder a few minutes later, a tad out of breath but also in his Muggle finest. 

“Happy Valentine’s,” Harry says, stealing a kiss. 

“This is my first one, Potter, so you better make it a nice one,” Draco drawls, smirking at his partner. 

“Oh, I intend to.”

And Harry keeps his promise. The evening passes with good food, great wine, and even better conversation. From time to time they skirt close to uncomfortable topics yet the tense silences never last long. They are surrounded by many other couples, share a desert in the end, and once they reach Draco’s place (since Harry insisted on taking him home in true gentlemanly fashion), Draco can pretend that his life is normal just like everyone else’s. 

By mutual understanding, they don’t overreach in bed that night. Harry sucks Draco off with luxurious strokes of his tongue; Draco returns the favour with his hands, his fingers ghosting across Harry’s hole in the faintest suggestion of what Draco’s tongue did to him not too long ago. 

But as comfortable as the evening has passed so far, Draco still is out of bed minutes after their orgasms and underneath a hot jet of water. 

_So much for normal_ , he thinks darkly, returning to the bedroom where Harry is waiting patiently. His eyes narrow when he catches sight of Draco’s expression and he curses himself for not plastering a smile on his face before exiting the bathroom. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Draco.”

“Harry.”

“Stop this, please.”

Draco averts his eyes, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I hate it that I still can’t stay in bed with you after… you know.” The words are out in a rush and Draco remembers some Muggle saying involving a band-aid and ripping it off quickly to reduce the pain. 

“Don’t you see that it’s already gotten better?” When Draco raises an eyebrow, he elaborates. “At first, one drop of,” Harry blushes, pausing awkwardly, “one drop of come sent you running. Now you can stay for a few moments or even minutes when you’re having a good day. I know it’s slow, but don’t forget that you’ve made progress.”

Draco blinks at his boyfriend, mouth agape. “Why do you always know the right thing to say?” he wonders out loud, not expecting an answer. 

Harry doesn’t give him one. Instead, he smiles and leans in for a kiss, shuffling closer and pulling Draco against his body. 

The nightmares don’t come that night. 

*

Lucifer shows up on Sam’s doorstep the Sunday after Valentine’s Day bearing good news. 

That’s not to say that he doesn’t have an ulterior motive in coming here bright and early enough that Sam actually opens the door in his pyjamas and a t-shirt. Damn, Lucifer would have bet that the lawyer slept shirtless. Or maybe that was simply wishful thinking on his part. 

“Lucifer?” 

“Good morning,” he says, shouldering his way into the flat where he finds Dean at the kitchen table, an empty plate and a mug in front of him. The older Winchester looks a lot healthier than when Lucifer delivered him to his brother. There is more colour in his cheeks and his previously gaunt appearance has almost vanished. 

“Dean.”

“Lucifer.”

“I bring news.”

At that, Dean is out of his chair immediately. “About Dad?”

Lucifer nods which awards him both the brothers’ full attention. “I tasked the same contact who knew your whereabouts to find out anything he could about your father. He has information yet chose not to relay it through owl or floo.”

“Where’s this contact? I’ll talk to him myself.”

“Easy there, Dean,” Lucifer chides him. “My contact is in America.”

“Alright, then let’s get a damn portkey and grill that motherfucker.”

Sam looks like he wants to argue yet Lucifer beats him to it. “You’re not rushing into this. I’m sure Sammy won’t allow it and I certainly don’t want to see all the effort I poured into saving your ungrateful arse to be in vain.”

Dean huffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “So what do you suggest, _Lucifer_?”

“I will arrange for transportation and set up a meeting with my contact. Also, you’re not going alone.”

“What the hell? I don’t need a god damned baby sitter!” Dean says and he clearly isn’t finished yet though Lucifer knows just how to silence him.

“I’m sending Castiel with you.”

It has the desired effect – Dean’s features soften in the blink of an eye. Lucifer exchanges an amused look with Sam. 

“Okay. When’re we leaving?”

“I’ll let you know.” Then, Lucifer rounds the corner to gain a better view of the rest of the apartment and yes, there is a bouquet of black roses on the coffee table. He turns on his heels and smirks up at Sam.

“I’m glad you liked the roses, Sammy,” he quips, walking out of the flat before either Winchester can form a response. 

Sam kept the roses. He didn’t throw them away on Valentine’s Day. 

Lucifer can’t stop smiling all the way back to his apartment. 

*

Of course the moment one part of Lucifer’s life seems to look up, something else goes down the drain (and frankly, it should be alarming how high Sam keeping the roses managed to raise his spirits and for how long; Natasha even told him that other employees were genuinely creeped out by how much Lucifer smiled the past two days). 

The root of all the evil – well, not _all the evil_ strictly speaking, yet Lucifer thinks the circumstances allow for hyperbole – is of course Rita Skeeter. 

Colour him not surprised. 

He knows it was only a question of time until that vulture of a woman gathered enough intel to expose every last of Draco’s secrets regarding the trial. Lucifer just hadn’t thought it would be this soon. 

Alas. He shrugs at the paper, sips his tea and continues with breakfast. The day ahead will be hard and Draco won’t be on top of his game. Hell, Michael will probably fire him today and if not, Friday the latest. Because this? This will tarnish the image of Triple M. 

*

_The Truth About Draco Malfoy_  
 _By Rita Skeeter_

_It has been known for several weeks now that Draco Malfoy, associate of Lucifer Milton at Milton’s Magical Money, is accusing four men of rape. However, neither Malfoy nor anyone at the Wizard’s Court has volunteered more details about the investigation._

_Of course, trials involving sexual assault are a delicate issue. Yet when said trail centres a public figure like Draco Malfoy, the public has a right to know._

_And now the shocking truth can be revealed – what the charges are, why Malfoy didn’t press charges earlier, and what role Lucifer Milton plays in everything._

_According to the case file, the exact charges facing Allan Jones and his accomplices are repeated rape, deprivation of liberty as well as torture. Allegedly the four men broke into Malfoy’s apartment and kept him there for the next 48 hours. The case report doesn’t include visual evidence yet according to Malfoy’s testimony, there was repeated rape, bondage, and torture involved. As to the reasons behind the attack: According to Malfoy, Jones and the others wanted to take matters into their own hands, punishing the former Death Eater for the lack of punishment imposed on him after the war. Thus, the assault can be labelled a hate crime, if the accusations are true._

_How exactly the reformed Death Eater could escape is so far unclear – since he himself apparently has no memory of it. It is known, however, that Malfoy landed in a Muggle’s backyard and that said Muggle helped Malfoy recover physically. One can only guess as to his mental health._

_Scared that his attackers might return, Malfoy apparently opted against suing them. On top of that, is seems that he feared his co-workers’, bosses’, and clients’ reactions to the information. Draco Malfoy is not popular at Triple M and undoubtedly he was worried about losing his job._

_So what changed his mind? For one, his attackers came back if one believes his accounts. Several Aurors managed to capture Allan Jones and his accomplices red-handed, having tortured the Muggle that found Draco and his partner and ready to hurt Draco Malfoy again. Amongst the squad was none other than Harry Potter himself._

_A second factor that undoubtedly contributed to Malfoy’s willingness to press charges was the support his boss sent his way in the form of the Triple M lawyer Sam Winchester. He has taken over Malfoy’s case pro bono and is facing a group of highly skilled attorneys that Allan Jones has hired._

_Unfortunately, neither of those involved has commented on the case yet. Then again, Allan Jones is currently being investigated by the RCMF for fraud._

 

*

The only thing Draco is grateful for is that he took a look at the paper before he ate breakfast or he might have been running to the bathroom when he saw the front page. 

Belatedly the thought registers that he should be angry, furious even. But he can’t. His chest feels empty, as does his head. He tries to move yet finds he can’t do that either. 

Time becomes a wobbly concept for Draco has no means of measuring it at the moment, so he can’t tell how much later it is when the front door opens and Harry enters hurriedly. The sound of quick footsteps stops abruptly; Draco muses his partner has caught sight of him. 

There is a tentative hand on his shoulder and Draco’s body shivers involuntarily. He feels cold sweat at the back of his neck but at least his stupor is broken and he turns into Harry’s embrace, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. He concentrates on the feeling of strong arms around him; Harry’s arms, safe arms. 

A sound startles them both. It comes from an owl – Sam’s owl, sitting outside the kitchen window. 

Draco moves automatically, lets the animal in and takes a letter from it while Harry busies himself with finding the owl treats in one of the cabinets. 

 

_Draco,_

_I don’t know how Skeeter found out about what she wrote but it can’t be undone. If you want, we can initiate juridical measures at a later point. Let’s talk about it at the firm today, if you’re fit to go to work. If not, I’ll visit you later._

_Sam_

 

Draco snorts humourlessly. Going into work is the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. Then he remembers how much more there still is to do and that, after an article like this, the public backlash will be coming, soon. Which means that him being fired is a definite possibility in the not too distant future. 

“I need to get ready for work,” he whispers, meeting Harry’s concerned eyes. 

“Are you sure?” he asks but doesn’t press the issue when Draco nods. “Should I start breakfast while you do?”

“Not hungry.” He steps past Harry on his way to his bedroom yet a gentle hand on his wrist holds him back. 

Harry waits to speak until their eyes meet. “I’m here, all right? If you need anything, anything at all.”

Draco forces a smile and continues his way to the shower. 

*

What Lucifer didn’t count on when he arrived at work that morning was to see Draco hurrying to his desk. Granted, he is a tad late but when the country’s newspaper runs such an article on him, he is allowed to take some more time to come in. 

The Malfoy heir puts up a brave façade, Lucifer has to admit. He forces smiles whenever Natasha tries to cheer him up and keeps his head down and his eyes trained on the work in front of him. 

Yet Lucifer can see him flinch whenever the door opens and predictably Draco stays in his chair during his lunch break as if he had a sticking charm placed on him. So Lucifer orders in from the good Italian place in Diagon Alley and invites Draco into his office. 

The half hour passes with one-sided conversation while Draco’s expression remains mostly blank but at least he coerced the man into eating for he is sure that the blond skipped breakfast. 

It is almost like Draco knows his time at Triple M will end sooner rather than later. By one o’clock, Lucifer has received five owls from clients who are worried about the mental stability of their accountant’s associate. Two even demand he pull Draco from the case altogether. Lucifer tells them what he tells all of them – that he won’t take measures unless Draco’s work suffers and until now it has always been satisfactory for his clients. 

Sam appears at half two and asks Lucifer to stay for the meeting with Draco. His mood isn’t the best, though; which means Lucifer can’t even be happy that Sam is voluntarily spending time in the same room with him rather than having Draco relay everything later. If only for this, Lucifer should put a prize on Skeeter’s head. 

“I’ve been corresponding with the Prophet’s editor in chief,” Sam begins, “yet seeing that Skeeter has a right to protect her sources, we can’t do anything right now. But I’m pretty sure this article will have repercussions so if these are detrimental to your health, both mental and physical, we will be able to sue her for libel.” Sam sighs, running a hand over his face. “But even then… The Prophet’s a big newspaper. We could sue them and win and there would still only be a correctional article somewhere in the back. You might be awarded a financial compensation but that doesn’t rectify the situation.”

“Are you saying they can write whatever they want about me?” Draco frets, speaking up for the first time that day. 

Sam looks like the admission physically hurts him. “That’s what we get for the freedom of the press. They can write what they deem newsworthy and we can take legal action but seeing as you’re a person in the public’s eye, everything we will achieve will be retroactive.”

“I can always have her assassinated,” Lucifer suggests with an evil smirk. Sam’s jaw is set as he glares at him. “I’m not joking. No one would ever know it was me who put the mark on her head.”

“She isn’t the only reporter the Prophet has, Lucifer.”

“But the nosiest one. Or maybe we could put a spell on her. Prevent her from changing into that Animagus form of hers. How else do you think she acquired such sensitive information?”

“She could have just as easily talked with someone from the Wizard’s Court or the Department of Crime Assessment. I’m sure there’s a few wizards out there interested in a smear campaign.”

Their exchange stops when Draco groans and rubs his face. “So what am I in for?”

When Sam hesitates, Lucifer grasps the proverbial nettle. “More articles, published letters to the editor… In short, a lot of hurtful words which I’d advise you not to read. Also, I highly suspect that my brothers will decide to fire you soon.”

“Brilliant,” Draco spits through gritted teeth. “Then I’ll better get back to work.”

He is gone without a second glance, leaving Lucifer alone in the room with Sam. Their eyes meet and Lucifer can see the question burning in those hazel eyes. Sam is worried about his job as well. Now, however, is not the time to take his fear away. Not when Sam might keep his job after all. It is improbable yet Michael and Raphael might consider it worse punishment to fire Lucifer but keep his favourite lawyer. 

However this ends, Lucifer has no doubt that it will be messy.

*

Harry finds it hard to concentrate on work when the only topic of interest everywhere in the Ministry seems to be Skeeter’s article. Harry hears fragments of conversations wherever he goes despite trying to tune them out. More and more people ask him for his opinion as one of the Aurors who arrested Jones.

_If you ask me, Malfoy got what he deserved -_

_I heard he’s sleeping with his boss at Triple M –_

_Come on, men can’t be raped, it’s all a fluke –_

_I’m sure Malfoy was asking for it, dirty Death Eater that he is –_

It’s the latter ones that strain Harry’s self control the most. He’d like nothing more than lash out, curse everyone smearing Draco’s name into next week or hell, better yet - lock them up in a holding cell and throw away the key.

He does his best to be there for Draco but his partner seems to have decided that he needs to finish every task of the month before the managing partners opt to let him go. Harry knows for a fact that he cancelled his therapy session that evening seeing as Aphrodite told him during his own hour with her. 

“Don’t call him out on it,” she asked him and for once, Harry listened. He wouldn’t know what to accuse Draco of if he wanted to since he is sure that if their places were reversed, Harry would do a lot worse than draw in on himself. 

“Just be there for him,” is his therapist’s advice so Harry makes himself comfortable in an armchair at Draco’s flat, reading the book on defensive spells that was just released and they spend the evening in companionable silence. 

Harry falls asleep at some point and when he wakes again he has a crick in his neck and Draco is still bowed over files, copying information and changing notes. 

“We should go to bed,” Harry tries but there’s no reaction. Harry rises from the armchair and walks over to where Draco is sitting on the sofa. He puts a hand on his shoulder. “Draco?”

“I can’t. I need to finish this,” he explains without looking up. 

“Are you going to work through the night?”

A nod. 

“What can I do to help?”

“Go home, sleep. Let me do this, all right?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I don’t need a bloody sitter, for Merlin’s sake!” Draco snaps with a lot more bite than Harry would have expected. 

“I’m not trying to be your sitter, Draco.”

“I won’t fall apart when I work through the night.”

Draco sounds so sure of himself that Harry barely wants to question him. However, the wording catches his attention. “What would happen if you went to sleep?”

Draco’s hand pauses, the parchments stop moving. “Nothing.”

“Please, don’t lie to me,” Harry whispers and takes a seat next to Draco but refraining from touching him. 

His partner heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been feeling… numb all day. Like there is some sort of void inside of me and I don’t want to lose that. Because I know that when I fall asleep, there’ll be nightmares and I won’t be numb anymore come morning. I need to keep myself together, you understand?”

_Not exactly_ , Harry thinks, _but I can sympathise._

“All right. Do you really want me to leave, though? I could sleep here and you can wake me if you need… me,” Harry finishes, a tad uncertain. 

Finally Draco looks at him, meets his gaze and although his jaw is still set, the lines around his eyes have softened. 

“That would be… appreciated.” 

Harry smiles even though he desperately wants to kiss Draco, kiss it all better but he knows it’s not that simple. So he only smiles and goes to bed, which feels too big without a second body next to him. 

He sleeps lightly, constantly on the edge of consciousness because he needs to be sure he hears if something happens. Nothing does, though, and when he stumbles out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, there is coffee and Draco, wearing the same clothes as last night, poring over different documents. 

Harry has a bad feeling about the upcoming days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if Lucifer might get away with killing Rita Skeeter. Or maybe a little maiming.  
> (My great beta, vernie_klein, is all for killing her. Then again, she writes Harry/Voldmeort. Check her work out [ here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vernie_klein/pseuds/vernie_klein).)
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated; in fact I strive on it :) 
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to visit/follow me on Tumblr, this is me: [Keep-calm-and-read-fanfic](http://keep-calm-and-read-fanfic.tumblr.com/).  
> Another bit of self-promotion: I have started a TV/Movie blog where I'll post reviews, thoughts, etc on whatever attracts my fancy. I am attending the Berlinale at the moment, so there's a lot about that. Feel free to visit me [here](http://nowreallifehasnoappeal.wordpress.com/). 
> 
> Anyway, next update on Saturday, the chapter is already written!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s time at Triple M is drawing to an end. Sam has to make a choice. Lucifer sits back and schemes while Harry has to face the disciplinary committee. Oh boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being a day late! RL is being a bitch to both me and my beta.
> 
> **Warning** for secondary wounding and minor flashbacks ( _in italics_ ). 
> 
> The case Jo and Emerson solved that I mention is taken from chapter 4 of my own Whitechapel fic, [ Almost Fatal Hesitation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/783175/chapters/1476027) (which also has a Chinese translation, how cool is that?)

After the tumultuous Wednesday, the following day passes almost too calmly in Draco’s opinion. True, everything he perceives might just be filtered through the veil of his voluntary insomnia yet he doubts he is the only one feeling it. 

He ignored the Prophet that morning even though he saw Harry glance at it briefly. 

His night shift, however, has an advantage - he finishes everything important that is going to be due before the month ends in the early afternoon hours and completes the necessary copies of the files Lucifer pointed out to him. 

“Considering everything is done,” Draco sums up a few minutes later in front of his boss’ desk, “is it all right if I finish early today?”

“Yes, but only if you promise me you will get some sleep.”

“What do you –“

“I can recognise concealment charms on you by now, Draco,” Lucifer points out. “Why don’t you take a sleepless dream potion and be done with it?”

Draco shuffles uncomfortably. “I don’t have any in the house. I don’t trust myself with them.”

“Ah, right,” Lucifer waves off his concerns. “Just buy one dose before you go home. Take it and come back well rested tomorrow. That’s an order,” his boss adds and Draco nods hurriedly. 

He alters his appearance for his trip to Diagon Alley, purchases one dose and one dose only, sends Harry an owl to explain he doesn’t need to come by after work but they could have breakfast the next day and then he goes to bed and sleeps for twelve hours without a single dream or nightmare.

Sweet Merlin, that feels good. 

On Friday morning, he joins Harry for breakfast at Grimmauld Place and wishes him good luck for his disciplinary hearing. 

“What’s your tactic?”

“Sam told me to admit to what I did and cite personal reasons.”

“You think that will help?”

“I have no idea,” Harry groans, seemingly trying to drown himself in his porridge. 

“Tell me how it goes?” he asks before he kisses his boyfriend goodbye and heads to work. 

*

Lucifer anticipates his brothers’ actions long before they are executed. He briefly considers waiting in Michael’s office, though he doesn’t want to make things too easy. 

“These,” Michaels says, pointing to the stack of parchments on his desk, “are the complaints the firm has received in the past two days regarding Draco Malfoy. Either they don’t want him working here because of his involvement in such an extensive trial or they are worried about his mental health.”

“So?” Lucifer cocks his head and relishes how his brother scowls. 

“And have you seen the papers?”

“I might have.” 

Of course Lucifer has read every letter to the editor the Prophet published as well as the op-ed articled written elsewhere, even – or perhaps especially – the derogatory ones. 

“This is not the moment to wear on my nerves, Lucifer. The situation is serious.”

“Of course it is. A young man is raped and the country blames him. It’s a scandal.” Technically it isn’t the entire country. Already there are several wizarding rights groups defending Draco against the unforgiving and ignorant pricks saying he merely ‘got what he deserved’. 

Oh Merlin, Lucifer really hopes Draco has stayed away from every newspaper. 

“Be that as it may, the case is hurting our firm’s reputation. You know what this means, brother.”

“And you’re really going through with this? You are actually going to fire the rape victim because a few clients are shocked that the press is breaking the taboo and actually writes about an issue like that?”

“It’s not just a few clients, bloody hell!” Michael snaps, slamming his fist onto the table. Lucifer’s brother must be genuinely angry if he stoops so low as to curse. “Our decision is final. Send Draco into my office on your way back.”

If it weren’t for the solid plan of starting his own firm with Draco, Lucifer would have fought the decision teeth and nail since contrary to common opinion, Lucifer does have a heart. However, Michael doesn’t know that and thus doesn’t expect him to oppose the decision. Lucifer doesn’t put on a show when two out of three senior partners think him a heartless boss who only cares because he needs to find a new associate. 

Nevertheless he glares and strides out of the room in search for Draco. 

*

It doesn’t take long for the blond to return and when he does, his shoulders are slumped and his eyes downcast. 

“That was quick,” Lucifer quips from his position in front of Natasha’s desk. Her expression is a lot more emphatic than his own. 

“Well, he wasn’t exactly gentle.”

“Why do you think his wife is cheating on him with that sensual dance instructor at Diagon Alley?” Lucifer remarks, earning a shocked chuckle. “Do you need to leave right away?”

“No, he said I could finish the day.”

“Good, or else I would have had to complete the Kiato survey on my own and where would the world be if I actually had to do anything in this office?” 

Draco gives him a small smile for his joke but from one moment to the next his eyes turn serious. “I stayed back a bit and Michael called for Sam. You haven’t told him yet, have you? He’s going to walk into that office without knowing about your offer.”

“Which is how I intended it,” Lucifer shoots back, though inside he is cursing. He needs to interfere on Michael’s meeting with Sam for various reasons so he walks out of the room and makes his way once more to his brother’s office. 

*

“What is this about, sir?” Sam asks after Mr Milton offers him a seat. He can’t remember the last time he exchanged even a few words with the senior partner, which isn’t helping the knot forming in his stomach. 

“Take an educated guess, Mr Winchester.”

Draco, then. 

“Why don’t you tell me, Mr Milton?” is what comes out of Sam’s mouth. He should really tone down the defiance in his voice, he thinks belatedly. 

The man doesn’t react verbally; he merely slides a pile of parchments across his desk, prompting Sam to take a look. The first paragraph of the letter on top is enough to give Sam a solid idea about the rest of them, though. He supposes all of them include the words “Malfoy”, “trial”, and either “mental health concerns” or “Death Eater”. 

“I’d sincerely advise against showing these to Mr Malfoy,” Sam tells Mr Milton, sounding braver than he feels. 

“I already did.”

Sam swallows around the lump in his throat. For all that he hated Draco in the beginning, for all his blinding jealousy of Lucifer’s favourite, the blond has grown on him, especially now that Sam knows the entire story. 

“… when I told him he won’t return to be returning to work on Monday.”

His pulse picks up at that as the realisation hits – this is it. This is Mr Milton asking Sam to discontinue his services and leave Draco standing in the rain. 

“That is unfortunate,” Sam grits out. He knows he can’t threaten Milton with a lawsuit since Michael has the company rulebook on his side. “Why am I here, then? I’m positive you didn’t call me into your office to make sure I tend to my client.”

Michael Milton smiles, all white teeth and it makes Sam shiver it is so creepy. Sometimes he doubts Lucifer is the only one consorting with criminals amongst the brothers. 

“You’re here, Mr Winchester, because you have a choice to make.” Michael rises, buttoning up his formal robes that sport the Triple M logo, and walks around the desk so he is leaning against the front and looking down at Sam. 

Sam is used to tactics like this with him being so tall and by now he merely shrugs them off mentally. 

“The trial is damaging our firm’s image. Clients are dissatisfied. I had no choice but to let Mr Malfoy go. I’m inclined, however, to keep you on as an employee if you withdraw from the trial. Should you be unwilling to do so, you are free to resign and will be awarded a modest severance package.”

Sam thinks this over for a few moments, wondering why Milton won’t just fire him right away. He fails to come up with an explanation other than “something’s fishy” yet it makes his skin crawl nevertheless.

“And if I chose to do neither?” he asks as innocently as possible.

“Don’t be daft, young man. You will never again get a job as good as this one, especially when you have been fired and not resigned on your own volition.”

“You seem to underestimate me, Mr Milton.”

The senior partner considers him for a second and opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted when the door opens and none other than Lucifer storms in. 

All right, he doesn’t “storm in”, though his entrance is no less dramatic. The perfectly tailored charcoal grey dress robes surely help, the treacherous part of Sam’s brain adds. The part that hasn’t received the memo that Lucifer is a persona non grata and will not be drooled over any more. 

No matter how nicely the fabric hugs his torso. 

“Brother, as you see, I’m in a meeting.”

“I do. I also see that you are endeavouring to stop Sam representing Draco. I wonder on what grounds you are trying to terminate a pro bono service that doesn’t cost our company a knut.”

Lucifer is suave as always, one arm crossed in front of his chest while the fingers of the other are resting on his chin in a thoughtful pose. 

“A damaged reputation can’t be measured in money, dearest brother.”

“Dearest? You must be naffed,” Lucifer drawls and Sam has no idea what he means so it must be slang he never heard. At times like these Sam acutely remembers that he is, actually, American. 

“Why are you here, Lucifer?” Sam cuts in, realising too late that he probably should call the man Mr Milton. Too late – Michael is already leering. Sam resists the urge to shift uncomfortably. 

“Consider me moral support.” Lucifer’s blue eyes sparkle with something as he winks at Sam – he actually _winks_ at him in front of the senior and managing partner of Triple M and what the hell does he think he’s doing? 

“Be that as it may,” Michael interrupts Sam’s train wreck of a thought, “Sam has a decision to make. Quickly, I have a meeting in ten.”

“What decision?” Lucifer asks immediately. 

“Abandon the case and continue being a lawyer here or take the severance package and go.”

Lucifer swallows and Sam’s eyes are drawn to the movement. He notices how the man’s jaw tightens before he turns towards him. 

“So Sammy, what will it be?” 

Their eyes meet and Sam can see the mischief in Lucifer’s - the blue is undeniably darker than it was before. Goosebumps cover his arms underneath his robes. 

But what is Lucifer planning? What is going on with him? Why isn’t he throwing a tantrum and shouting at his brother? 

In the end, it is a split-second decision that Sam makes based on his instincts alone and a strange feeling in his gut. 

“What if I do neither?” he challenges Michael who looks genuinely surprised. 

“Do you think it wise to have me fire you?” 

“No, but I can’t contradict my principles. I’m not leaving Draco Malfoy alone in this fight.”

Sam doesn’t need to turn around to see Lucifer’s smile. Milton’s face, however, morphs into an angry mask. 

“You’ll regret this,” he snaps and Sam merely raises his eyebrows. “Fine. It is unfortunate how this turns out but you leave me no other choice.” 

Michael returns to his chair behind the desk, wandlessly conjuring a parchment Sam recognises as his contract even over five years later. He doesn’t flinch when the document catches fires. 

“Please leave the premises immediately. Enjoy unemployment, Mr Winchester.”

Sam nods, stands up, and exits the room without looking back yet he can hear familiar footsteps following him. Lucifer has to hurry since his legs won’t carry him down the hallway as quickly as Sam’s do. 

He leads them into an empty conference room and only turns around when he hears the door shut behind him and Lucifer. 

“This is on you,” he snarls. “You said it wouldn’t come to this and look what trusting your judgement got me!” 

“Sam, no need to shout –“

“Of course there’s a fucking need to shout! I lost my job, Lucifer! I may have enough savings to get me through until the trial is over but after that I’ll be broke. And do you have any idea how hard it’ll be to find another job after Michael fucking Milton fired me?”

Lucifer opens his mouth yet Sam doesn’t want to hear any of it so he presses on. 

“No, you don’t because you’re not worried, you never are. You’ll make it in life even if there’s collateral damage. Guess what, others aren’t as lucky. What do you think Draco will do after the trial? Will he find a job? No, because he’s branded, everyone knows. Just be glad he comes from a rich family or this might have ruined his life forever.”

Sam makes to storm out of the room but a strong hand on his shoulder attempts to hold him back and Sam doesn’t think about it – he lashes out, putting his weight into it and all his rage, swinging a fist at Lucifer’s face and it connects with the man’s eye. 

Lucifer stares at Sam, one hand raised to where the skin is already red. 

“Don’t talk to me,” Sam hisses, leaving Lucifer behind in the otherwise empty conference room. 

It takes ten minutes to calm his pulse once he is back in his own office. Another twenty to pack up his belongings and when he is about to leave the door opens. Sam is about to shout at Lucifer to get the hell out but it turns out it is only Ruby, the paralegal. 

She is tall and pretty with thick, wavy brown hair and yes; Sam might have spent a few interesting nights working late with her after Lucifer rejected him. 

“What’s going on?” she asks, eying the two boxes in front of Sam suspiciously. 

“I’ve been fired.”

“What? Why?”

“My pro bono case is detrimental to the firm’s reputation. I wouldn’t quit so Mr Milton had to fire me.”

She huffs, stepping closer. “I’m sorry,” she offers. Sam is thankful she doesn’t suggest suing for wrongful termination. They both know just as well as the senior partners that it won’t hold up in front of the Wizengamot. 

“Do you want me to come over later?” She looks up at him through her lashes. “It’s been a long time.” 

Sam shakes his head. “Sorry. Got a lot on my plate.”

She merely shrugs. “Owl me if you need cheering up.”

“Thanks.” 

With a nod, she is out the door, holding it open for Sam who passes through carrying the boxes. Ruby turns right down the hall towards her office while Sam aims for the elevator. 

He tries to ignore the glances he receives as he makes his way through the lobby, pausing at the front desk to turn in his employee ID, the little enchanted badge that allows him access to the company’s floors. 

He doesn’t look back once he is out of the door. 

*

“Mr Potter, this committee has gathered to determine what transpired on January 24th, 2003, and if disciplinary actions are necessary. You have been charged with battery by Allan Jones, whom you arrested on the same day. Do you understand the reason for this hearing?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Harry forces himself to keep calm, to listen to the witch at the podium recite Jones’ accusations and statement but his body is thrumming with rage nevertheless. At least Jones is still in custody with the RCMF. 

“How do you plead, Mr Potter?”

“Guilty, ma’am,” Harry begins, reciting what Sam advised him to. “I did attack Mr Jones on January 24th. To my knowledge, I broke his nose in the process and caused him further bodily harm for which I am sorry.” 

The last bit is the biggest lie Harry has ever told, though no one is here to contradict him; no one knows him well enough to do so. Maybe Robards but he won’t object if remorse will ease the sentence in the end. 

“May the committee ask why you would do such a thing, Mr Potter?”

Harry heaves a sigh, averting his eyes for a moment before meeting the witch’s again. “I have to cite personal reasons, ma’am. It was highly unprofessional of me to let my private life bleed into my professional life like that, but I can’t make undone what has already passed. I will accept every punishment you deem fit.”

He averts his eyes again, deciding he needs to give Sam a really large “thank you” present for his coaching because the disciplinary committee soaks it up and believes every word. 

They go into recess for ten minutes which Harry spends worrying and avoiding Robards’ glare. The Head Auror isn’t fooled in the slightest as it would seem. 

“Mr Potter,” the witch begins before she continues reading from a parchment. “On January 24th, you misused the power entrusted in you by the Ministry of Magic and caused bodily harm to another wizard. However, you have shown remorse here in front of this committee and did not try to deny the allegations. Your record so far has been exemplary; in fact it is clear that your department head considers you one of his best men so early into your professional career. We have considered these mitigating circumstances and our punishment will not be as harsh as it could have been.”

She pauses and gives Harry a stern look. “However, we cannot let you go unpunished since you broke the law when in fact, you should do your best to uphold it. This is why this incident will remain on your permanent record and you will be suspended for a period of four weeks without pay. Furthermore you will be required to pay a 100 Galleon fine. Your suspension will commence on Monday. You are dismissed, Mr Potter.”

Harry takes a deep breath, releasing it through his nose. A four-week suspension. It won’t be easy but Harry knows he deserves it, in a way. 

He nods at the committee and leaves the small hearing room. It doesn’t surprise him when Robards steps into his path and motions for him to follow until they end up in a deserted hallway hardly anyone ever frequents. 

“Personal reasons, eh?” Robards’ arms are crossed, his look stern. “Care to tell me which personal reason so I know which assignments not to give you after this?”

Harry swallows nervously. “I’d rather not say, sir.” 

“Cut the polite bollocks, Harry. Although, that was quite a show in there, I’m impressed. You’re not sorry at all and don’t try to deny it.”

All Harry can do is shrug sheepishly, causing his boss to groan. 

“But I’m serious, Potter. Tell me right now why you chose to ignore every rule in the book or you’ll be on desk duty when you come back.”

“That’s blackmail –“

“Damn right it’s blackmail, Potter. You’re not the only one who can play dirty.”

The ensuing staring contest lasts for about a minute before Harry’s sense of self-preservation kicks in and he speaks up. 

“You know that Jones is the one behind the attack on Draco Malfoy.”

There is something in Robards’ eyes that suggest he can already see where this is going but his eyebrows rise, prompting Harry to go on. 

“Draco Malfoy and I have been… in contact. Months before my attack on Jones, actually.”

“Which is why he called you when he needed help from _my_ department.”

“Yes.”

Another staring contest that Harry looses. Robards won’t come out and ask him; however, the question is glaringly obvious and Harry knows better than trying to play innocent. 

“Draco and I have been,” Harry pauses, swallowing around the knot in his chest, “er, romantically involved since last December.”

There is a moment of silence. Then Robards explodes. 

“Merlin’s balls, Potter, do you have any idea how stupid this is? It’ll rain Dragon’s fire when this come out –“ and Harry wants to object though the hand his boss holds up stops him, “and don’t you think it won’t.”

Suddenly Robards eyes grow wide as saucers. Harry doesn’t like the look taking over the man’s face afterwards, not one bit. 

“Are you telling me,” he growls, “that you have been boyfriends with the bloke Allan Jones raped while you’ve been investigating the man because of the robberies? Did you know it was Jones? Or what, did you help Malfoy to identify –“ 

Robards, who has been working himself up to an intimidating volume that would have put Uncle Vernon to shame, suddenly stops mid-sentence. 

Harry squirms. 

“Oh no, you didn’t, Potter.”

Harry opens his mouth –

“No, don’t say a word, I won’t be complicit here, Potter. I do definitely not want to know how many rules you’ve broken in the past two months. Do you have any idea what could happen if any of this gets out?” he seethes. “Your career will be finished and it won’t matter if you’re the Chosen One and everyone’s Golden Boy, Potter. If it gets out that you abused your position as an Auror and, I don’t know, compromised an on-going investigation, I will personally fire your arse and blacklist you so you’ll never work for the Ministry again, do you understand me?”

Heart beating fast in his throat, Harry nods. He may have defeated the Dark Lord but right now he is more afraid than he ever was. This should not be happening. Robards should not know, or suspect, for that matter, what Harry did for Draco. 

“As far as I’m concerned, this conversation never happened. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now get back to the office, clean up lose ends and break the news to your team that they’ll be one brain short the next few weeks.” His boss snorts on his way out the door. “Yeah, brain. That’s debatable…”

He grouses some more yet Harry can’t hear him as he collapses against the wall, taking deep breaths, trying to get the panic under control. 

*

Draco and Lucifer finish the Kiato survey by early afternoon since neither of them is in the mood to talk much which does wonders for their efficiency. Draco doesn’t have to ask – he took one look at the shiner on Lucifer’s face and knew what happened. 

His boss’ mood after he concealed the bruise only served to confirm Draco’s suspicions that Sam Winchester has lost his job at Triple M and blames Lucifer. Sam probably didn’t even let him explain and Draco can’t blame him. 

“Thank Merlin that this is done,” Lucifer sighs. 

“What else do you want me to do?” Draco asks, hands twitching from lack of activity. 

Lucifer sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose with one hand. “I want this day to be over,” he admits, voice uncharacteristically soft. 

“Well, you’re the boss. You could just send Natasha and me home for the day. Although I’ll have to pack up my desk before I leave.”

The look Lucifer gives him suggests he is genuinely considering the idea. 

“Tell you what. While you remove your personal artefacts from the office, I’ll have Natasha organise lunch and we’ll celebrate your last day here.”

Draco forces a smile. That he actually is grateful makes it a bit easier, though. 

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Soup for you, then?” Lucifer replies, already halfway at the door. 

Despite everything, Draco chuckles. “If you insist.”

“Consider it your last order at Triple M.” Lucifer grins, even though it is more forced than honest, and Draco can hear him talking to Natasha. 

*

Draco reaches his flat an hour later, carrying a box with personal belongings. He brews tea and sits down on his couch, starring into space for a bit. 

The strange mood threatening to consume him earlier this morning, after he returned from his talk with Michael and without Lucifer in the office, is back with a vengeance. 

In an attempt to distract him, Draco checks his mobile. He has a text from Jo, asking if Draco wants to catch up today since both Muggles have spent the past two weeks chasing after a paedophilic murderer until they arrested him last night. Apparently this warranted a day off. 

So Draco invites Jo and Em over to his place and gets another mug of tea while he waits. He occupies his thoughts with potential movies they could watch after they’re done catching up, or potential plans for dinner and how Harry is doing after the disciplinary hearing. 

The hooting of an owl rips him from his contemplations. 

No, two owls, he realises when he reaches the kitchen window and lets them in. Both are Ministry or Ministry related birds for they don’t stay or ask for treats but just turn around after Draco has taken the scrolls off them, flying off again. 

The first letter is from Harry and Draco’s chest tightens in anticipation as he unrolls it. 

_Well, at least we’ll both be unemployed_ , Draco thinks bitterly. Telling his partner about being fired is not a conversation he is particularly looking forward to. 

The second letter bears the Wizard Court’s emblem. Draco narrows his eyes. 

 

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_Due to increased public awareness the Court has seen it fit to move the initial hearing of Malfoy vs. Jones forward._

_Your presence will be required at the Ministry on March 3rd, 2003 at 9 am. Information of importance to your legal counsel is attached, as well as directions to the courtroom._

_Sincerely,_

_Gladis Chittock_  
 _Person of Contact, Malfoy vs. Jones_

 

Draco groans, conjuring a calendar. This change in pace gives them nine days to prepare everyone for the hearing. Sam has already started yet so far he has been too busy gathering evidence, especially on the potion Aiden administered during the weekend in July. 

_“You‘re going to swallow it all, gorgeous. It‘s an amazing thing, this potion. Keeps you going and going, never able to satisfy your sexual hunger. It‘s illegal in Britain, unfortunately, but we have our ways_ ,” Draco hears Aiden say in his head.

He shivers as he remembers flashes of that experience, the things he said, the things he begged for. 

_“I need something in me, sir, please sir, I need you to fill me up,“_

_“I‘m gagging for it, sir, please, I will be so good, I will get you off, let you come down my throat or on my face, I will do anything, please sir, let me suck you off.“_

Draco’s hands start shaking and he takes a deep breath that fails to steady him. 

_“Good boy.“_ Stewart’s voice this time. Draco feels bile rising in his throat and he rushes to the bathroom. 

After, he leans against the tiles, cold against his back even through his clothes. If only thinking about the potion has this effect on him, how Draco is supposed to survive the trial, he wonders, while Stewart’s words echo in his head. 

_“You‘re such a good slut, gorgeous. And you’re nothing more either, just a cockslut who needs to be stuffed real good, at both ends. You’re greedy for it, you proved that today. The way you begged for more, the way you whined when you were empty again... You were born for this. Forget your job, gorgeous, you need a master to break you, you need someone who will feed you his cock every day. You’re nothing but a slut-“_

The doorbell rings, bringing Draco back to the present. He scrambles to his feet, splashes his face with cold water, and hurries to open the door. 

*

Sam fiddles with the keys longer than usually until he is one second away from kicking his own front door in when he finally succeeds in unlocking it. He throws the boxes from his office onto the ground and kicks at them for good measure. They contain nothing he will miss if it breaks. 

He wishes Dean were still here instead of abroad with Lucifer’s assassin or whatever the right designation is for Castiel, looking for any trace of Sam’s and Dean’s father. 

Sam hardly cares. He hasn’t spoken to the man ever since he left at 18 to go to law school. He does, however, worry about Dean. 

Dean, who would know how Sam could vent his anger, if he were here. 

Ten minutes of pacing and two shots of whisky later, Sam’s eyes fall on the envelope on his coffee table. 

Yes. 

That’s how he will work off his agitation. 

*

Grant Krushnic seems to be, as far as Sam and the private detective he hired are able to gather, a small-scale drug dealer. Not one of the guys standing on the street but not one of the big fish either. 

The detective was able to track the potion Draco described back to Krushnic, who seems to have supplied Malcom Gibbs with it the week before he attacked Draco along with Jones, Sterling, and Davenport. 

Krushnic would make a brilliant witness in that he could link Gibbs to the crime and perhaps the dealer might even have more information on what Gibbs intended to use _Voluptas_ for. 

If. 

If Sam had a way to make Krushnic testify. 

Sam finds the dealer leaving a high-end restaurant where he probably just had lunch. A man of Sam’s height and build may not be all that inconspicuous, however Sam learnt at an early age how to tail someone, courtesy of his father. Granted, back then he was a gangly teenager, yet the principles still apply. 

Thus Krushnic never realises he is being followed and is adequately surprised when Sam spins him around and pins him against a wall. 

“What do you want,” the thug asks, voice not panicked at all, apparently used to rough handling. He even meets Sam’s eyes. “Drugs? Money? I can give you both.”

“I don’t want your money, Krushnic,” Sam hisses at him, pressing his arm down harder on the man’s chest. 

“What’s your poison then, big guy?”

“Information.”

“Oh, I can deliver that. Mostly for the right price, but –“

“Who needs money when you have leverage?”

Krushnic freezes for a moment. “What do you want?”

Sam feels safe to release the thug so he steps back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He knows the pose accentuates his biceps, which will hopefully intimidate the bloke. Krushnic is tall and lean, maybe even strong, yet Sam has a few inches on him and quite a lot of pounds. 

“Last July, you sold someone a potion.”

“I sell a lot of stuff to lots of people.”

“You’ll remember this one. It was _Voluptas_.”

Krushnic smirks. “Oh yes, I sell that quite a lot, too.”

“To whom?”

Sam gets a shrug and his temper spikes. He steps closer until he is inside Krushnic’s personal space. 

“Listen closely, man,” he growls. “I have incriminating evidence. Pictures of you, memories of you consorting with your customers, and it’s abundantly clear what exactly you’re doing. It’d be enough to get you thrown into Azkaban for a very long time. Are you following me?”

Krushnic grits his teeth but says nothing. 

“Good. I want to know whom you sold _Voluptas_ to in July. I even brought a picture of your client to jog your memory. Give me the recollection, I’ll review it, and if it is the one I’m looking for, I will hand you the photos.”

“How do I know you don’t have copies?”

“You don’t.”

Sam stares the guy down, actually hoping Krushnic will refuse. Throwing him against a wall felt good and there is still anger coursing through Sam’s veins. 

The thug must have felt it, too, for he cows eventually. “Show me the client.”

Sam retrieves the picture of Aiden, aka Malcom Gibbs. 

Krushnic considers the moving face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration until his eyes widen and his head jerks up. “He’s in prison, I’ve seen him in the papers.”

“Yes. And to ensure he stays there, I’ll need your cooperation.”

“You want to show my memories in court?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t like that.”

“You’ll like it less when the Aurors are coming for you and drag your worthless drug-dealing ass to Azkaban.”

That shuts the man up. For a few seconds, at least. 

“ _Voluptas_ isn’t meant for that, you know. They use it in Asia all the time, to help them have a good time.” 

“Well, your client didn’t use it for his own amusement. He decided to hurt someone with it. And you sold it to him.”

“Aw, don’t try that crap on me. I don’t force people to buy my merchandise. They wreck their lives all on their own.”

“And your life is going to be wrecked if you don’t start to cooperate with me,” Sam snarls, smashing Krushnic against the wall once again. If Krushnic’s wince is anything to go by, it hurt. 

“All right, all right, easy there. You’ll get the memory. Can I at least obscure my fa-“

“No.”

“But –“

“No. I doubt Krushnic is your real name. Change your appearance when we’re done, I don’t care. But you won’t temper with my evidence.”

Krushnic grumbles, then glacially produces his wand, touches his temple with the tip and begins to withdraw a silver string of memory while Sam pulls out a phial to catch it. 

Then he stuns the dealer while he reviews the memory in his portable Pensieve. 

Lady Luck apparently decided to favour him for once today. Not only can Malcolm Gibbs be clearly identified, they also discuss the drug’s effects at great length and that it’s meant to be used for fun. 

_“Oh,” Gibbs leers, “I’m sure I’ll have some.”_

Sam secures the memory before releasing Krushnic, who glares at him. 

“We have a deal.” Sam pulls the pictures and two phials containing memories from his inside pocket. “Enjoy your day.”

Krushnic snatches the documents, grumbles, and hurries off into the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fyi, _voluptas_ is Latin for “lust”. And if used consensually, I can imagine it to be one hell of a step up from Viagra!
> 
> **Next update will probably be March 1st,** not next week, since I have to go to my grandma’s funeral this week and can’t say how much time to write I’ll have, so be patient. But I can promise that the Lucifer-Sam-situation will be partially resolved in the next chapter if my characters listen to me. 
> 
> Also, I’ve been wondering while re-editing this chapter… Harry really messed up, didn’t he? I have half a mind to let him be found out and see what happens… 
> 
> I’m looking forward to your comments :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial is a looming presence in everyone’s lives yet nothing stops because of it. Lucifer decides it is time for his time at Triple M to draw to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have an extra long chapter ☺ Thanks to my beta, vernie_klein, because I really don’t praise her enough and Special thanks to a very comfortable and roomy ICE that enabled me to write in peace for a few hours and of course to my wonderful betas merlenhiver and vernie_klein!
> 
> Ludo is a board game and also known as _Parcheesi, Sorry!, Aggravation, Trouble or Mensch Ärgere Dich Nicht_. I used to play it as a child but I have no idea if people still play that or used to play that outside Germany ;) Anyway, it seemed like the safest game for Draco and three other people.
> 
> Btw, I have no idea if I have given Graham and Hollande first names yet. Let’s pretend I didn’t, okay? (yes, even if merlenhiver thinks it’s lazy) For future references, they are Will Graham (not the Hannibal one, though) and Jacques Hollande.

Harry feels incredibly tired by the time he reaches Draco’s flat on Friday night. He spent the rest of the day helping his team as much as he could to ensure the ensuing investigation would run smoothly. 

They are a breath away from solving this, from connecting Elias Roth to the Prosecutors in a way that will hold up in front of the Wizengamot. And Harry is out of the game. 

He expects to see Draco on the sofa, either already asleep or with his eyelids drooping. Instead, he is met with laughter coming from the living room. 

As it turns out Draco has guests and they are all playing Ludo. Harry blinks, closes his eyes briefly, but no. Jo, Emerson, and Sam are all still there, currently watching Sam shaking his hands that probably contain the dices. 

When the dices fall, Sam thrusts his fist in the air triumphantly. 

“You’re going down, Jo!” With that, the usually so professional lawyer kicks one of Jo’s blue tokens out of the way with his red one. 

A glance at the board shows that Jo is in the lead while Sam is a close second. Draco sits in the green corner, Emerson in the yellow one. Both seem too amused to care about winning the game.

The thought that the ambitious Draco doesn’t care about winning is a bit unsettling, Harry has to admit, but he decides to make his presence known before he can dwell on that longer. 

“Since when are we all seven years old again?”

Jo and Emerson chuckle as they return his greeting; Draco gives him a small smile and Sam a shrug.

“Not everyone used to play this when they were seven,” Sam comments and Harry wants to defend himself, tell Sam that he only ever was allowed to watch his cousin play board games, though Sam’s remark makes it sound like Sam wasn’t allowed either. 

“Yes, because we’re sophisticated wizards who have games where the pieces actually move on their own,” Draco sneers, grabbing the dices and rolling them. To everyone else, Draco might look condescending yet Harry can see the softness in his eyes. Draco is actually enjoying himself. 

Harry makes tea and refills everyone’s glasses (apparently Jo and Em brought whisky), then proceeds to watch his boyfriend, two Muggles, and a Winchester butcher each other. It all happens very amiably, he has to admit. 

Well, until Sam beats Jo’s last token and is already singing victory hymns when suddenly, Draco’s little soldier attacks him from behind. All right, Draco manually kicks Sam’s red one off the board, but the spirit is the same. 

It only goes downhill from there. Harry never knew Ludo could take that long. 

It doesn’t matter in the end for they all laugh more than Harry can remember laughing over the course of an evening (or night, a glance at the clock suggests). 

Harry notices how Jo inconspicuously restrains himself, missing opportunities from time to time, always to Sam’s advantage. The DI probably also understands why Sam seems to be so happy about playing the game. 

Jo, however, doesn’t cut Draco any slack, which is why the Muggle finishes second with Draco trailing after him. Emerson forfeits, though him losing might have something to do with how his eyelids are drooping. 

“So, Muggle board games?” Harry asks once everything has been packed away. 

“Jo’s idea,” Draco explains. “I’d have suggested Wizarding chess but apparently it freaks Jo out. And I wouldn’t play with Emerson. I’d have crushed him within three draws.”

“Sam joined after a few rounds,” Jo adds. “And then it became serious.”

“Your definition of serious amuses me,” Draco snorts, huddling closer to Harry who joined him on the sofa. 

“So,” Harry begins, “your killer is taken care of?”

Emerson nods. “Last night.”

“He played the hero,” Jo points out, in a tone that is half fond, half exasperated, eyes trained on his partner. 

“I did not! I just saw the bloke, followed him and called for back-up.”

“You confronted the girl he was with; he could have just as well decided to hurt you.”

“Well, he ran, didn’t he?”

Judging by Draco’s amused and simultaneously annoyed look, this is not the first time the two Muggles had this particular conversation. 

“But we have more news,” Draco says yet his voice is off. Harry narrows his eyes at him. “Seems that Triple M has two employees less.”

“What?”

“Michael fired me. And Sam.”

“Well, Sam had the choice to quit and get a severance package,” Emerson adds, “but being the righteous man that he is, he refused.”

Harry glances from Draco to Sam and back again. From what he can tell, Sam is genuinely angry, yet not at either one of them, while Draco wears this look where he pretends to be fine but Harry can see the emotions in his eyes. 

“Michael’s a stupid tosser,” Harry comments, “so if he doesn’t see what great employees he has, let him be, right?”

Draco’s lips curl upward in a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Right,” Sam grumbles, “but not all of us have family fortunes to fall back on.”

“Just you wait until we win this trial,” Draco insists. “You’ll be headhunted afterwards. You won’t know which job to take.”

Sam’s answering glance proves to Harry, however, that the lawyer doesn’t share Draco’s enthusiasm regarding his own academic future. 

Harry can’t suppress the grin. If Sam only knew what Lucifer had in store…

Two hours later Draco and Harry see their guests out the door. They would have stayed longer but Sam wants to start preparing everyone for their big moment on the stand tomorrow, bright and early. 

Harry’s mind travels back to fifth year without permission, to the uncomfortable hearing chamber in the Ministry, Umbridge’s nerve-wrecking throat-clearing, and Dumbledore’s rescue. Only this time, there won’t be anyone who testifies in his favour. 

It’s true, their case is strong, but none of them know what aces Jones has up his sleeve and like Sam told them tonight – a witness that breaks down on the stand or gets tangled up in contradictions will hurt their offense no matter how true their words are. 

Sighing, Harry pulls Draco closer against his body without waking the blond up. Harry watches light from the street reflect on his hair as he strokes it, lost in thought, trying to come up with an alternative should they actually lose. 

Their prospects are unsurprisingly grim. 

*

Like promised, Sam rings Draco’s doorbell at half nine while Harry and Draco are just finishing breakfast. 

“Tea?” Draco asks, ever the nice host. Well, to his friends, at least.

Sam wrinkles his nose. “Do you guys have coffee?”

“Sure.” Draco rolls his eyes but he knows his lips are curling up, giving away that he isn’t actually annoyed. He wouldn’t have bought coffee otherwise. 

“All right,” Sam begins as they all take a seat in the living room. “I’ve done some digging on Jones’ lawyers. He hired HARC.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to us?”

“It’s a group of lawyers who specialise in criminal law and cater to the rich and powerful amongst Wizarding Britain. Jessica Hardman, Deaton Avery, Belinda Ravensmith and Louis Cee.”

“Ah, H.A.R.C.” Harry nods, sipping his tea. “Are they as good as I fear you’re about to tell us they are?”

Sam nods gravely, flipping his bangs out of his face with a jerk of his head. “I applied there after law school but they only hire from prestigious British academies so I was turned down. But they live up to their expectations. I’m sure they would have managed to get Voldemort off if he had been given a trial.” 

Draco can’t help the nervous laugh escape his throat. “You’re not serious.”

The look he receives in answer tells a different story. 

“That’s why we need to be prepared. They excel in finding every witness’ week spots and exploiting them. They’ll press until it hurts and won’t ease up until the damage can’t be undone.”

“Is that legal?”

“The way they do it, yes. They have a knack for asking questions related to the case that will destroy your defence.”

“What’s our master plan, then?” Draco has to cross his arms to keep his hands from shaking. 

“Preparation. I can train you not to break under their pressure. And I have several theories as to their approach. They have all pled not guilty but Jones is the money behind this operation; most of their defence will centre on him and not on Sterling and Gibbs. I’m sure that if we can put forth irrefutable evidence against them, Jones’ lawyers will cut them loose and close ranks around him.”

“But he can’t walk free!” Harry objects, anger visible in his expression. “That’s not a possibility!”

“We won’t let him,” Sam agrees, his voice level. “But we need to play this right. My theory is that they will give Jones an alibi for the weekend. Is there any chance that he could have gone out during those days?”

Draco swallows, checking his internal timeline. There are still some black spots. 

“I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t have all my memories back, Sam. They know more than we do.”

Sam sighs, running a hand over his face. “All right. If you do remember – and I don’t want you to push yourself, understand? But if you do remember, tell me immediately. Well, and HARC is obligated to turn in a list of witnesses a week before the trial, so we’ll be able to piece together what they have in mind.”

They change topic then, focus on questions Draco and Harry will be asked, where they might be pushed and how they should react – and more importantly, how they absolutely mustn’t. 

Even after Sam leaves for Jo’s place, Draco can’t ban his words from his mind. 

He needs to remember or it might endanger his case. 

“You can’t force your memory, Draco,” Aphrodite tells him later that day during their session and he is completely unsurprised by her reaction. 

“I know but I have the feeling that I really do this time or it might cost us our victory.”

“What are you planning to do about it?”

“I don’t know, all right! Focus on the memories I have, try to push at the hole in them? Look for a spell?”

“Such magic can be very dangerous.”

Draco slumps back into his chair. Of course he knows it’s dangerous. He has read stories about wizards trying to retain their memories through spells and potions and some of them will never leave St Mungo’s Mental Ward. He won’t risk ending up like this. 

*

“How do you feel about your suspension?” 

Harry cringes in his chair but even then, the question is a lot safer than other topics. 

“I don’t know, I may deserve it, so…”

Aphrodite raises an eyebrow. 

“I mean I did what they accused me of, I didn’t deny it, told them I was sorry. It could have been worse.”

“Did you deserve worse?”

“Jones deserved worse,” Harry snaps, immediately regretting his slip of tongue.

“What do you imagine doing to him?”

“We’ve had this conversation.”

“I’d like to know if your answer has changed.”

Harry glares. “I’d hit him; only this time Draco wouldn’t be there to stop me.” He has a hard time keeping the anger from his voice. 

“Why aren’t you doing it, Harry? You’re clearly tempted.”

He snorts. “They’d send me to Azkaban and what then?”

“Draco would be alone.”

He doesn’t need to acknowledge that the doctor is right. 

“How are you sleeping?” 

Every session she asks this question and every time Harry’s answer is a terse “Fine.” Aphrodite always looks at him then, waiting for more details he isn’t going to provide. 

It’s not like he is lying. He is sleeping fine. He doesn’t have that many nightmares anymore; he has none when he is sleeping next to Draco and in the past few weeks, they have hardly spent a night apart. 

Except for the one when Draco was taking Dreamless Sleep. Harry had worried that night, worried about Draco, if he was going to be all right… 

Yes, the nightmares had come that night.

And no, Harry doesn’t want to talk about it. There are more pressing matters in his life, like Draco’s trial. The witness list Sam will be given on Monday. Lucifer’s plans regarding his own firm. 

“Are you worried you might be found out?” At Harry’s questioning gaze, Aphrodite specifies, “What you did for Draco?”

Harry told her about the conversation with Robards at the beginning of their session, following it immediately with what happened that evening and today, hoping he could avoid her inquiries. He doesn’t want to think about that question. 

“They won’t find out.”

“Who knows about what you did, except Robards, Draco, and yourself?”

Harry swallows. “Ron. He won’t say anything. He’s my best friend.”

“He doesn’t like Draco Malfoy.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Harry huffs, amused despite himself. He has yet to see Ron and Draco exchange words in their capacity as Harry’s best mate and boyfriend. “But he won’t. I’m sure.”

“What will you be doing during your suspension?”

Harry shrugs eloquently. “Draco is unemployed, too. We’ll find things to do.”

Even he can tell that Aphrodite is growing more and more annoyed by his habit of evading the question or choosing brief and superficial answers. 

He can’t help it. He isn’t in the mood for therapy, especially since it seems that being with Draco is helping him a lot more than his sessions with Aphrodite ever have. Sure, he is neglecting his grief, his survivors’ guilt, and everything else that’s wrong with him in favour of being there for Draco. Harry hasn’t attended any event since the Christmas Celebration and he isn’t planning on doing so in the future no matter how many invitations Hermione sends him (two in the past seven weeks). 

Harry doubts anyone would hold being there for his partner against him. The way his therapist looks at him, though, begs to differ. 

“I’ll see you on Monday, Harry,” she says eventually. They still have five minutes left but she seems to know she won’t bring him to say anything else on the topic. 

“Enjoy your Sunday.” With a smile, Harry leaves the office.

*

By the time Monday comes around, both Harry and Draco are a bundle of nerves. They spent most of Sunday apart – Draco had lunch with his parents, Harry visited Ron and Hermione. According to the blond, the Malfoys were their usual stoic selves while Hermione chattered away about precedents, similar trials (not that there were many), and upcoming events Harry could get more involved in, seeing as he is suspended for four weeks. 

Yeah. Sure. 

Ron had dark circles under his eyes from a stakeout that lasted all night yet hardly yielded any results. “But we’re onto something, Harry, I swear it.” Harry hope that his team will finally crack their case and bring the thieves to justice, no matter if Jones is actually behind it or not. 

Sam receives the witness list in the early afternoon hours and drops by Grimmauld Place with a smile. 

“Charlotte Evergreen,” he says, somewhat non sequitur. 

“Gesundheit,” Draco replies without looking up from the book he is reading. Something about finance, a topic which still eludes Harry despite his vast fortune. 

“Bless you,” Sam quips. “And bless her. I think I know what HARC are up to.”

Now that immediately secures him their rapt attention. 

“Charlotte Evergreen is listed as a witness of the defence. She is, however, neither relative nor close acquaintance of either of the three. My guess is that she will testify that Jones was with her that weekend, lying through her teeth. If he paid her off, we will find out and we will expose it.”

“Anything we can do to help?”

Sam shakes his head. “You’re suspended, Harry, and I’m not risking this case on anyone claiming you pretended to act under the authority of the DMLE.”

Harry groans and sags into his chair. 

“I’m on it. It’s not as if I have to make time for work.”

“Sorry,” Draco supplies before Harry can react though Sam waves it off.

“You guys just relax. I’ll tell you when I need anything.”

And with that, Sam is gone as quickly as he came. 

*

The morning after, Draco finally groans and asks a question Harry expected a lot earlier.

“Bloody hell, why don’t we just give everyone Veritaserum?” 

They are both in their pyjama trousers and t-shirts. The outfit does nothing to hide Draco’s hip bones and Harry has to shake himself out of mentally undressing the blond and sucking him off right there in the kitchen before he answers. 

“Not at this point in the trial. A motion for the use of Veritaserum is one of the most difficult motions to file successfully and the Wizengamot is extremely stingy when it comes to the potion. It’s expensive and a lot of people say it’s unethical to forcefully administer it,” Harry explains, hoping he has concisely summarised a week’s worth of Auror lessons. 

“So what, when it becomes evident that either Jones or me is lying, can we file a motion then?”

Harry nods. “But don’t count on it. Sam knows what he’s doing, Draco.” He steps closer to where Draco is sitting at the kitchen table and leans in, smiling into the kiss when Draco dips his head to meet his lips. 

Harry could kiss him for hours. Draco’s hand has travelled into his hair and is exercising a gentle pressure while the fingers of his other hand are resting against Harry’s throat, feather light strokes against his pulse point that nonetheless send shivers down Harry’s spine. 

The kiss gains in heat slowly and there is no rush. They have the house to themselves and nothing planned. 

Draco tugs on his arm and pulls him down into his lap where Harry can feel his partner’s erection growing. He rolls his hips and relishes the moan it pulls from Draco’s throat. 

Of course that is when the door bursts open with a loud bang and whoever just entered Grimmauld Place stutters to a halt. 

Draco and he both freeze, neither exactly prepared to turn their head and see who their unexpected guests are. The possibilities aren’t exactly varied since not many people have access to Harry’s home – it’s probably just Sam bearing news. 

Bracing himself, Harry opens his eyes and glances at the door. There, he finds his colleagues, eyes wide, mouths hanging slightly open. Ron is the most composed of them all; he seems shocked, yes, but nowhere near as mortified as Graham or Hollande. 

“Uh.” 

_Smooth, Potter_ , Harry can practically Draco’s voice inside his head. 

“Draco, these are my colleagues. You know Ron. That’s Graham and Hollande. Guys, this is Draco.” He hopes his voice is as nonchalant as the statement sounded in his head.

“’allo,” Hollande stammers. Graham manages an unenergetic wave. Ron at least nods decisively. 

“Good morning,” Draco smiles what Harry has come to recognise as his Malfoy Smirk. “I suppose your friends are here to discuss work. That would be my cue to indulge in a very long shower.”

He turns towards Harry who is still straddling Draco on the chair. 

“If I could only move.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Harry says, hurriedly disentangling himself from the other man. 

Then, in true Malfoy fashion, Draco presses his lips against Harry’s in a soft kiss before he stalks from the room as if he owns the house. Graham’s and Hollande’s eyes follow him out of the hallway. 

“What was that?” Graham finally manages.

“That was Harry’s boyfriend,” Ron snaps, “and it’s not common knowledge so shut up about it.” 

Hollande holds up his hands. “Of course, sorry. It was just a bit of a surprise.”

“Well, I’d love to discuss my private life but I take it you blokes have a reason why you’re here instead of at work?” Harry mentally pats himself on the back for this rather smooth change of topic. 

Like flicking a switch – or wand, Harry muses - Ron’s demeanour changes immediately and he beams at him. “We did it! We found a witness to tie Allan Jones to the robberies!”

“Brilliant! Who?”

“Olaf Jespersen. He’s a wandmaker in Knockturn Alley, though no one famous,” Graham continues, “but he supplements his income with swiping wand histories.”

Harry’s eyes grow wide. Swiping one’s wand history is highly illegal (and also requires a highly skilled wizard) since determining which spells a wand performed previously is often the only way to prove a crime and tie it to the wand’s owner.

“And?”

“Right, mate, listen, it’s a bit sketchy but we found him through a few contacts. Hollande went in undercover and paid the bloke to purge his wand and afterwards revealed himself as an Auror. We gave him a choice to either go to jail for a very long time or to testify about Allan Jones and the likes of him and still go to jail but for a shorter period of time.”

Harry blinks at his best friend. “And he agreed?”

“Or course he did! He even remembers which spells he purged from Jones and his friends! This will tie him to the robberies, as well as a few of his lackeys.”

Harry gives in to the urge of thrusting his fist into the air. Damn, that feels good. “Brilliant job, guys!”

“Too bad you can’t come with us and take the credit,” Hollande remarks but Harry shakes his head. 

“Frankly, I really don’t care. The only thing that matters is that you can tie Jones to the thefts and then perhaps to the Prosecutors.” And with the RCMF still keeping Jones in a cell and Draco’s trial… “That tosser is going down!”

Harry sees the same thrilled expression mirrored on his colleagues’ faces. 

“You said it, man.” Graham pats him on the back. “Listen, we’re off to file the paperwork and everything but my wife said she’ll cook something nice for the four of us. And Hermione.” He hesitates for a moment, clearly uncertain how to handle the situation. “Well, I guess you could bring Draco, too?”

“Thanks, I’ll ask him, all right? I’ll owl Patricia so that she knows to expect one or two?”

“Sure thing, Harry.” 

They all indulge in very manly hugging and back patting before Harry manages to shoo them out of the kitchen, but before they leave for good, Ron turns around and meets Harry’s eyes straight on. 

“Listen, I know you’ll think we don’t want Malfoy there, but well… He’s your boyfriend or partner or whatever, so if you want to bring him, bring him. All right, mate?”

“Thanks, Ron. I appreciate it.” Especially when Harry can see how much this cost his friend. 

Back in the kitchen Harry tries to imagine the evening. Hermione would do her best to be nice as would Patricia as far as Harry can tell. The evening could be nice. Or it could be disastrous. 

Harry will leave the decision up to Draco, he resolves eventually. 

*

Draco isn’t nervous. Considering all he has lived through in his short life span, a dinner with Harry’s colleagues is nothing he should worry about. 

Still, his heart is beating hard against his ribcage when he follows Harry through the floo to Graham’s house, yet not because of the reason one would think. It is actually a nice change of pace, going out and meeting other people. However, this is the first time Draco encounters anyone acquainted with Harry who will know him as Harry Potter’s boyfriend. And usually, Draco has no problem making a good impression, yet he somehow doubts his abilities when there are three Aurors present, one of whom being Weasley. 

He steps out of the fireplace right after Harry and glances around. The Grahams’ floo room appears to double as a living room. It looks small and lived in. Draco glimpses a few toys lying around so there must be children in the apartment. Right, Harry mentioned that. Jonathan and Lucy, Graham’s twins. 

“Hello, Harry,” a female voice interrupts Draco’s thoughts. Patricia Graham is a small, round woman with a bright smile, which doesn’t falter when she turns towards him once she has kissed Harry on both cheeks. “And this must be the boyfriend!” 

“Draco Malfoy,” he says, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

She takes his hand and positively giggles when Draco kisses it with a small bow just like he learnt when he was a child. It does the charm every time. 

“I’m so glad you came! Will said they didn’t know about you before this morning but it’s so nice to know that Harry has someone.”

Draco is a tad surprised. Apparently Patricia decided to completely ignore the fact that Draco is both a former Death Eater as well as the plaintiff in a gruesome rape trial. Well, this reduces the potential for awkward conversation considerably.

Patricia leads them to a kitchen where most of the guests are already seated (Draco insisted on being fashionably late). Introductions are quick since Draco knows both Graham as well as Harry’s co-workers Weasley and Hollande and he would never be able to forget Granger. He should try to call them by their first names though, he muses as the twins rush down the stairs and through the open door into the kitchen. 

Dinner passes amiably, mostly because Draco keeps his remarks about the cheap interior design and lack of space to himself (the Grahams aren’t exactly Weasley-levels of poor but not by much) while Ron explains how the rest of their day was and that formal charges would be raised tomorrow. 

“Harry, you should really come to the House Elf Ball next week,” Hermione insists over dessert and Draco feels Harry tense next to him. “It’s a small event, you could disappear after an hour and a half.”

“Hermione, I don’t know…”

“That’s the fourth event you’re trying to skip out of.” 

“Well, there’s a lot going on at the moment. I don’t know how the next weeks are going to be and –“

“All right, but this is the last time I’m giving up this easily. The next fundraiser is for the Lycanthrope Equal Access Bill and I’d think you’d have a personal interest in making sure the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures gathers enough money to finance the change in legislation.”

Next to Draco, Harry looks adequately chastised, averting his eyes and nodding. “I’ll be there, I promise.”

Draco reaches out underneath the table and squeezes Harry’s hand reassuringly. 

“Great!” Granger smiles at them. “You can bring a plus-one,” she suggests with a wink. 

“We’ll see about that,” Draco answers easily. It’s not that he wouldn’t like to attend the fundraiser with Harry, it’s just that their relationship won’t be public knowledge by then if Sam has any say in the matter. Besides, Draco’s parents will be there… “But you can count on a donation on my part.”

“Wonderful! You do know, though, that your father has already donated quite the generous sum?”

Of course Lucius had. “Well, I want to. I doubt you’ll turn my offer down.”

Granger - Hermione – shakes her head. “We’ll need all the support we can get to implement the measures we’re proposing.”

 

The adults around the table nod in assent. Draco has been following the story of the Lycanthrope Equal Access Bill for quite some time. Once passed, it would require employers to allow werewolf employees a few days off surrounding the full moon depending on the individual cycles with full pay and require the Ministry to provide every lycanthrope in Britain with free Wolfsbane potion. 

Once the (surprisingly very well-behaved) kids are in bed, the adults retire to the living room. Seating opportunities are limited and with Patricia and her husband on the sofa along with Jacques, Weasley and Hermione took the small settee, leaving only the large armchair for Harry and Draco. 

“We can fetch a chair from the kitchen,” Will offers but Harry merely flashes a smile and pulls Draco down into his lap. It takes some rearranging yet the pose is so familiar to both of them that they soon settle down with their drinks. 

“So how long have you boys been together?” Patricia asks pleasantly. 

“Since December,” Harry answers. 

“We met at our therapist’s office,” Draco provides once it becomes clear that no one in the room actually dares to ask while the desire to know is obvious in everyone’s eyes. 

“Ah, right, Robards made you see one?” Hollande asks. 

“Yeah, I’m still going. Either that or Robards puts me on desk duty,” Harry grouses. 

“Well, it’s done you a world of good, if I dare say so,” Patricia says. “You’re way happier than before.”

“I guess that’s more Draco’s doing than therapy’s,” Harry mumbles and Draco makes a soft noise. 

“What high praise, Potter,” he drawls, unable to prevent the colour from rising in his cheeks. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry snaps back immediately and the room laughs. 

Thankfully, that seems to put an end to awkward questions and apparently it is an unspoken rule to ignore the upcoming trial. It turns out to be a surprisingly pleasant evening, all things considered. Draco doesn’t even insult Weasley once. 

Out loud, that is. 

Draco feels a comfortable warmth fill his chest that doesn’t just stem from the Firewhisky at some point during the evening and the night improves even more once they are back at Grimmauld Place in Harry’s bed, rubbing against each other, their cocks touching with every movement. 

Draco kisses his way down Harry’s bare throat, swiping his tongue over the nipples before biting down and soothing them again with a kiss. They both come like that, panting into each other’s mouths like teenagers on their first date but it’s perfect and even though Draco still showers afterwards, there is none of the panic that usually fills his veins when he feels dried come on his skin. 

What a day indeed. 

*

“Is the survey finished yet?”

The associate’s eyes widen. “N-no.” 

“Why?”

“It’s complicated –“

“Forget it,” Lucifer snaps, “the details of your incompetence do not interest me. Just get the job done already.” He sighs as he sees the other associates scattered around the room all duck their head, acting as if they haven’t been listening. “How did you land this job anyway?” 

When the bloke just looks up at him in fear, Lucifer heaves a sigh and waves at him to carry on, then turns around and leaves the communal office. 

“It’s only been three days and this is the fifth associate that proves utterly useless,” he bitches at Natasha who merely raises an eyebrow. “Where does HR find these boring people?”

“You’re merely spoilt.”

“Yes, I’m a senior partner and financial genius, I’m allowed to be spoilt.”

Lucifer’s mood doesn’t improve two hours later when whatshisname knocks on his office door, bearing the survey Lucifer wanted first thing in the morning. He can’t even begin to express how much he misses Draco. 

When the work turns out to be nothing more than satisfactory and thus nowhere near the standard Lucifer has grown accustomed to, it is the last straw.

It is time that his era at Milton’s Magical Money finds a premature end. 

*

“Why, exactly, are we having lunch in Diagon Alley?” Draco wonders as Lucifer steers him into a restaurant later that day, having all but kidnapped the blond from his flat. 

“Because I have a meeting in town at two thirty and I need someone to complain to about the incompetence of the other associates.”

Draco smirks immediately, raising an eyebrow. “Miss me?”

“You bloody well know I do. I have no idea how Triple M is still the best firm in the country; it’s a miracle none of our clients are going bankrupt. I mean Gabriel at least is a skilled accountant but Michael and Raphael? They’re about as cunning and clever as a gnome; they don’t have enough grey matter between them to audit an international cooperation. Good thing they leave the heavy lifting to me or our clients would despair.”

Draco looks at him as if he has grown another head. Lucifer doesn’t care. This is necessary and Draco will understand come the following day. 

“Too bad our father left the company to those two fools; it’s a toy too complex for them to play with right.”

“Good thing they have you, then,” Draco comments tentatively. There is a glint in his eyes that leads Lucifer to believe Draco has an idea about what Lucifer has planned. 

“To the genius that is I!”

“To the Merlin of finance,” Draco toasts, raising his glass and drawing the attention of a few patrons. 

Perfect. 

*

The past few days remind Sam more of his childhood spent travelling the country with his father and Dean, hunting monsters and trying to keep up in school, than anything else. 

He hardly sleeps, uses every waking moment to build his defence, calculate every mishap, devise alternate strategies and obsess over the moment when it will all inevitably end and he’ll be unemployed. 

However, there is a lot of that going around, as it turns out. 

On Friday morning, a week after he lost his job, he opens the business section of the Prophet and gulps at the headline meeting his eyes. 

 

_“IT’S A MIRACLE NONE OF OUR CLIENTS ARE GOING BANKRUPT!”_  
 _By Rita Skeeter_

_Lucifer Milton, senior partner at Milton’s Magical Money, was overheard yesterday at a restaurant in Diagon Alley as he spoke his mind about his brothers and fellow senior partners at the firm. According to him, especially Michael and Raphael Milton are unsuited for the accounting profession and scrape by with sheer luck and the assistance of Gabriel Milton and Lucifer himself._

_Witnesses report the second youngest Milton brother was venting his anger at Draco Malfoy, formerly his associate yet now unemployed, as Michael Milton feared for Malfoy’s mental health in relation to his work at Triple M given the upcoming rape trial._

_Lucifer’s remarks won’t sit well with his brothers and neither will they with their clients. One has to wonder – is there some truth behind his words or is this just a man lashing out? Milton has been known for impulsive behaviour, as his erotic escapades in London’s queer scene are clearly indicative of._

 

Sam stops reading and takes a deep breath. What the fuck is Lucifer thinking? There is no way in hell he will keep his job after such an article. Sam wouldn’t be surprised if Michael broke his nose. 

The entire story sounds extremely fishy in Sam’s opinion. Lucifer isn’t the kind of man who gets caught with his pants down (in case of New Year’s, that has to be taken literally) unless he _wants_ to. 

In a split second, the puzzle pieces fall into place and the realisation knocks the air out of Sam. 

Lucifer wanted to be overheard. Lucifer knew statements like this would find their way to the Prophet and of course the slimy cockroach Skeeter would swoop it up in a heartbeat. 

Lucifer wants Michael to fire him. 

That asshole is up to something and Sam will be damned if he doesn’t find out why. 

*

Lucifer goes to work especially early on Friday, grins broadly at Natasha who is already shuffling parchment at her desk (not that this is a surprise), and makes himself comfortable in his office, sipping coffee and watching the clock strike eight. 

Three minutes later, his door slams open, revealing a very, very furious Michael. 

“Morning, dear brother,” Lucifer drawls sweetly. If he is being let go, he might as well enjoy it. 

“Stop that,” Michael snaps. “You know exactly why I’m here. What the bleeding hell was that?”

“I was merely expressing a personal opinion to Draco. I’m awfully sorry we were overheard.”

His brother seethes, his hands balled into fists as if that could keep Michael’s magic from lashing out. The instruments on Lucifer’s desk start trembling slightly.

“Do you have any idea how damaging your remarks were? What will our clients think?” 

“They will wonder if they have chosen the right accounting firm.”

“Is this revenge because I fired your boy?”

“No, _Mike_ ,” Lucifer says, enjoying how his brother cringes at the nickname, “I had no ulterior motif. I was simply making conversation. I might have been a little annoyed since no associate’s work is as impeccable as Draco’s was, but what have you.”

Lucifer keeps smiling until the other man’s breathing evens out and he crosses his arms in front of his chest, trying to loom over him. 

“Well, before coming here I have conducted a _conversation_ with Raphael.”

“Since you can’t run crying to Father anymore, I guess he will have to do.”

Michael glares. “I wouldn’t be so coy when your job is on the line.”

Lucifer allows his eyes to widen theatrically. “You can’t be serious. You can’t fire me. Who would replace me?” He fakes a laugh. 

“Zacharias is a capable accountant; he knows the corporate world as well as you.”

Lucifer doesn’t have to pretend because that statement? Hilarious. “Ha, sorry I know I said you have no sense of humour, but I take it back!” 

“Do I look like I’m jesting?”

“You sure sound like it.” Lucifer stands, preparing for his brave, final act. “You would never fire me. You have neither the guts to do so nor the resources to compensate my absence.”

Michael’s eyes turn hard as steel. “Watch me, brother.”

When Lucifer merely laughs in his face, he uncrosses his arms and straightens even more than should be humanly possible. Must be the stick up his arse. 

“Lucifer Milton, you are hereby dismissed without previous notice. Please pack up your personal belongings and leave the premises. I will inform HR. Turn in your badge at reception and destroy your business cards.”

Michael smirks at Lucifer’s slack-jawed expression. He must be rather convincing, then, Lucifer muses as he watches his brother walk out the door. Halfway through it, he pauses and turns around. 

“I’m sure you’ll take it in stride, brother. At least now Sam Winchester isn’t your subordinate anymore. You both have a lot of free time on your hands now. Enjoy unemployment.”

Lucifer waits a few moments before he emerges from his office. Natasha looks shaken so he smiles reassuringly. “Everything is in place. No worries, my dear.”

She releases the breath she was holding and blinks up at him. “How long do you want me to stay before I quit?” 

“I’ll file the paperwork on Monday; the RCMF will take a week or two to process the forms… I’d say Milton’s and Malfoy’s Malicious Monetary Machinations will go into business before the first week of April is over. If you want a holiday, quit next week. You’ll be able to afford it.”

“Good.”

“Everything is in order?”

“Of course.”

“So Zacharias can take over without any problems?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think it’s time for me to get the hell out of dodge,” he quips, earning a laugh from his secretary. 

He is back in his flat before the clock strikes nine.

*

Sam has been to Lucifer’s loft exactly twice before and that was quite a while ago. He hopes he is still allowed inside the building or else shouting at the man will prove difficult. 

Sam barely manages to contain his anger as he storms up to the building where the doorman asks his name and – thankfully – lets him through. 

Lucifer, how else would it be, lives on the top floor with a brilliant view over London. One can see the entire city when the night is clear if Sam remembers correctly from their few late night sessions. The loft also holds the most comfortable couch Sam has ever sat on. 

When he finally reaches Lucifer’s door, his pulse is racing and the sound of his rushing blood is prominent in his ears. He knocks loudly and waits patiently until the door opens only to push into the apartment and past Lucifer. It’s barely a quarter past nine as the clock in the kitchen area indicates.

“Why aren’t you at work?” Sam demands although the answer is self-evident. 

Predictably, Lucifer doesn’t dignify it with a response. 

“They fired you, too, didn’t they? Fuck, how could I have been so blind?!”

“Blind to what?” the man asks innocently, tilting his head up to meet Sam’s eye.

“Your schemes! I should have known when you didn’t throw a fit when they let Draco go. You’ve planned this all along, haven’t you? You wanted to be overheard yesterday, you wanted the Prophet to print it!” Sam rages, stepping towards Lucifer with every sentence but Lucifer walks backwards, putting some distance between them. 

“I may have posed as a witness wanting to remain anonymous and sent a transcript of Draco’s and my conversation to Rita Skeeter.” He grins cheekily. 

“You did what?! Hasn’t she cost us enough nerves?!”

“She has her moments and her uses, if you know how to manipulate her thirst for scandals.”

Sam swallows down his impulsive response, trying to calm himself down or he might just end up hitting Lucifer again. 

“So what about Draco? He wasn’t overly devastated after he lost his job; I take it he’s in on your plan?”

“He is, in fact, an integral part of it. It wouldn’t work without him.”

“What are you scheming, then?”

“Oh, you’re a big boy, I’m sure you can figure that one out on your own.”

Sam glares, inwardly checking his clues until his blood runs cold, mostly out of shock that he didn’t piece it together sooner.

“You’re starting your own firm.”

The broad smile Lucifer gives him serves as an adequate answer. 

“What was I, then? Collateral damage?” Sam growls, stepping closer without actually registering he is crowding Lucifer against his large steel fridge. 

“You are part of the plan.”

“What?”

The other man is practically glowing now. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know Michael would fire you as soon as the press got a hold of the details of the trial and the hate mail started? Every accounting agency needs legal counsel.”

Sam is rendered speechless for a total of three seconds. “What makes you think I’d actually work for you?” Damn it, he sounds like a petulant child. 

“Oh, a number of things,” Lucifer says, his voice low and that tone does things to Sam, has always done things to him. 

But his anger still hasn’t dissipated. 

“What gives you the right to simply leave me out of the loop? This is my life you’re toying with! My career! Did you ever think about that?”

“Sure.” He smiles that self-assured smile of his. “And I decided you’re better off working with Draco and me than for my moronic brothers.”

“I can’t believe – are you listening to yourself?” Sam spits, shoving Lucifer against the steel door of the fridge, making him wince. Good. Hopefully the door handle will hurt where it’s digging into his back. “You go around, changing everyone’s lives without pausing for one second, one fucking second to consider if the people might actually want to have some fucking control over their own decisions?”

“Oh, get off of your high horse, Sammy,” Lucifer barks. “As if you’d said no when I offered you your brother on a silver platter in exchange for defending Draco. And you’re too good a man to step away after promising to help. You lost your job the moment you agreed to take over Draco’s case.”

“You still should have told me!” he shouts back, staring down into Lucifer’s blue eyes. “You could have saved me a lot of sleepless nights which I spent worrying because I _don’t have a goddamn job anymore_! But of course you have no fucking idea how it is to live in uncertainty, to worry about rent or to fret about the costs of legal journals because you’ve never had to think about that because you’re an egoistic bastard with a family fortune who cares about nothing and no one but himself!”

“Don’t patronize me, Sammy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Stop deflecting every single thing with sarcasm, you’re driving me crazy,” Sam shouts, shoving against the other man again, finding a twisted pleasure in watching his features contort in pain. 

And then Sam closes the distance between them and presses close, pushing Lucifer harder against the unyielding surface of the fridge, chest against chest – and in the same movement he claims Lucifer’s mouth with his own. 

It is like the air has caught fire and the heat fills Sam up as he sucks on Lucifer’s tongue and bites down on his bottom lip. Without conscious decision on his part, his body is grinding against the other man’s, seeking friction. 

Lucifer growls into his mouth as he wraps his arms around Sam’s torso and pulls him closer, arching his back to rub his groin against Sam’s. Their erections touch through the fabric of their clothes and Sam looses his mind a little, latching onto Lucifer’s throat, which the man bares without being prompted. 

It’s messy and borderline feral and Sam can’t remember ever feeling so alive. Every synapse in his brain is burning, ignited by Lucifer’s fingernails digging into his back and his teeth scraping over his pulse point. Feeling the rapid rise and fall of Lucifer’s chest against his own thrills Sam to no end and he attacks Lucifer’s mouth again, pinning the older man even harder against the surface, and Lucifer comes with a guttural groan, tensing under Sam’s hands before going boneless and not at all protesting against the incessant movement of Sam’s hips. 

He bites down hard on the skin where Lucifer’s neck meets his shoulder when his orgasm takes him and he comes in his pants like he never even did when he was a teenager. 

Once his head is clearer, Sam pulls himself away from Lucifer, whose knees buckle for a second before he gains his balance. 

He wants to speak, to say something, anything, but then his eyes fall on the bruise he left on Lucifer’s neck and he realises with a start what, exactly, just happened. 

Sam does the only logical thing. 

He bolts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cheers-crazily* YAY! Finally, boys! I knew you had it in you!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the eventual and long overdue resolving of the UST between them. Not to be a tease or anything (me? nooooooo), but you have a lot of porn to look forward to in the next chapter :)
> 
> Btw, the Lycanthrope Equal Access Bill is inspired by the Werewolf Equal Rights Bill vernie_klein devised in her Harry/Voldemort fic, which you can find [here ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/60692).
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://keep-calm-and-read-fanfic.tumblr.com/).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer goes after Sam and proves he doesn’t break easily. Harry is working up to asking Draco to take their relationship to the next level.  
> (aka "11k Of Porn")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, warning for porn! Actual, consensual porn :) It’s a tad more violent than I anticipated but Sam and Lucifer developed a mind of their own. Although, Harry/Draco porn doesn’t go down as smoothly, just a small warning. A real warning, this time. This goes some dark places at times… Also some fluffy ones, though!
> 
> This chapter got way out of control. It was supposed to be as long as the usual chapters, buuuuuut.... you'll see. 
> 
> Visual aid for shirtless!Sam [here ](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mczzt5EMQr1rqoxy7o1_1280.jpg).

When Lucifer’s mental capacities have returned, Sam is gone and the only evidence of their little tumble is the wet patch in his pants. 

Oh, and the pain in his back from where the fridge handle kept impaling him. 

He straightens, touching the bruise on his neck with his hand. With a flick of the other, the stickiness is gone and this would be the moment to do something, but for the love of Merlin, Lucifer has no idea what his agenda was after returning from Triple M. 

He checks his skin in the bathroom mirror – and of course Sam had to bite him just where his robe collar would end, that bastard. A concealment charm will hide it well, yet the fabric of the clothes will still chafe and remind Lucifer of what exactly happened. 

The only problem is – he can’t really say what happened. All right, the most erotic frottage session of his life might be one title for the event. But was it anger sex? Was that Sam trying to shut him up or finally giving in to the attraction he feels for Lucifer? 

_Only one way to find out._

He smiles at his reflection in the mirror and goes for his coat. 

*

Sam waits until he is back in his flat before he panics. What the hell was he thinking? He swore to himself to move on, to let Lucifer go and what, all this time his body was planning on betraying him the first change he got? 

Just thinking about him and Lucifer pressing against each other makes his cock twitch inside his only recently clean-spelled jeans. 

_I’m so screwed._

Sam starts pacing in his flat, thoughts going round and round in his head as he tries to come up with a solution to this mess. He can’t ignore Lucifer since he is a key witness in the trial and any animosity between them might transfer to the courtroom and that? That might hurt Draco’s case, which Sam won’t allow to happen. 

But what are the alternatives? Tell Lucifer it was nice (hot, Sam’s mind supplies, it was the hottest thing he has ever experienced) but no, thanks? Start having casual sex with the man? Have a warm body to hold close after an exhausting day –

_Knock, knock._

Sam curses under his breath. Of course Lucifer wouldn’t let him be and when else would the guy drop by than well before Sam has made any kind of decision let alone formed an opinion on the matter. 

_Knock, knock._

Sam waves his wand hand, opening the door from his place in the living room area. Lucifer looks as composed as always, entirely in control as he saunters into the flat, closing the door behind him with his foot. Sam crosses his arms and glares. 

“My, my, why so angry, Sammy? One would think you were the one who’s been mangled by the fridge handle.”

Sam can’t hide his flinch. As good as it felt to see Lucifer hurt in the heat of the moment, now, in the cold morning light of his apartment, he can’t help being appalled by his own actions. 

His reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. “Oh, if I had minded I would have thrown you across the room. No need to blame yourself.”

Sam snorts before he can think better of it. “Yeah, sure.”

“Oh Sammy,” Lucifer sighs, taking the last few steps that separate them. “You should know better by now than to underestimate me.” 

Then Lucifer grips Sam’s arms and honest-to-Merlin throws him across the room. Sam barely manages to keep his footing and has to grip the table top of the kitchen counter because, holy shit, Lucifer almost threw him into it. Sam knows he is staring stupidly at the other man, who smirks like the proverbial cat that got the canary. 

Sam has always known Lucifer isn’t quite human. He has seen enough demons with black eyes as a child hunting with Dad and Dean to suspect a thing or two after Lucifer made his eyes darken at the Christmas party. But suspecting something is up and having physical proof are two completely different things. 

Lucifer saunters towards him again, eyes still blue but a darker shade that chases a shiver down Sam’s spine. 

“So don’t worry, Sammy,” Lucifer drawls. “I won’t break.”

And now it is Sam who is pressed against a piece of furniture, the edge of the kitchen island digging into his lower back, but the pain hardly registers since Lucifer has placed a leg between his and is pressing down, rubbing his thigh against Sam’s growing erection. 

With a moan, his head falls back and he can feel Lucifer’s breath on his throat. Suddenly, there are hands grabbing the collar of his t-shirt, fingers brushing against his chest briefly before Lucifer rips the shirt apart. The ruined cloth falls to the floor and pools around their feet. 

When Sam meets Lucifer’s eyes, fully aware how blown his own pupils must be right now, the man is smirking and damn it, this just won’t do. Sam managed to steal his composure once today; he will do it again. 

So he moves his hands from where they are gripping the counter to Lucifer’s belt, undoing it swiftly just like the zipper and before Lucifer can bat his hand away, Sam touches his cock through his briefs. Lucifer grunts, his hips twitching so Sam’s left hand comes to rest there, holding Lucifer in place while Sam’s right hand finds its way into the pair of underwear. The second his fingers wrap around the other man’s cock, Lucifer moans, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder, his hands roaming freely over Sam’s torso. 

It’s difficult to concentrate on keeping his rhythm steady when Lucifer twists his nipple with one hand while the other is stroking his sides, making Sam’s skin tingle, but somehow he manages. He experiments, gripping Lucifer with varying strength and running his thumb over the crown, spreading the precome he is beading and has soon figured out just what draws the most beautiful noises from the other man. 

Short minutes later, Lucifer’s hands abandon their exploration of Sam’s body and settle tightly on his shoulders while he tries desperately to thrust his hips forward but Sam’s grip on them is unyielding. 

“Fuck!” Lucifer throws his head back with a shout and his robes slip down a bit, revealing the dark bruise on his neck. Sam’s mouth latches onto it again, sucking down hard. Lucifer hisses, more pain than pleasure but Sam can feel the cock in his hand jerk so it can’t be that bad. 

Lucifer climaxes like this, with Sam’s hand down his pants and Sam’s mouth on his neck. 

Sam would have expected him to go boneless, yet to his surprise, Lucifer draws back mere moments after his orgasm, his eyes still dark but glinting with mischief. 

Then, in one fluid motion, Lucifer drops to his knees and pulls both Sam’s pants and boxers down, revealing his erection that has until now been straining against the fabrics. Lucifer rests his hands on Sam’s hips and swallows him down in one movement. 

All those times Sam imagined receiving a blowjob from his boss (and yes, he did jerk off to that fantasy and a lot other, dirtier ones), he pictured Lucifer as incredibly talented. He wasn’t far off, as it turns out. It is clear Lucifer knows exactly what he is doing, trying different approaches until he finds the right combination of suction and friction that has Sam’s knees weaken and his throat producing rather embarrassing keening noises. The thing that steals the air from Sam, however, is how much more intense the experience is than he could have ever dreamed. 

All of Lucifer’s attention is focused on him, his reactions, the noises he makes, when his muscles twitch, his tongue toying with the slit of Sam’s cock, massaging the underside of his head, taking him down until he can feel the back of Lucifer’s throat and it makes Sam wonder how he could have ever contemplated to ignore Lucifer’s advances. 

With every lick of his tongue and every bob of Lucifer’s head, Sam is one step closer to completely losing his mind. He feels Lucifer’s gaze glide over his torso, sending a thrill through Sam’s body than ends in a moan whenever Lucifer is doing something especially clever with his mouth. 

Sam tightens his grip on the kitchen counter and Lucifer’s eyes are back on him, watching his biceps and chest muscles shift. He needs to remember this particular kink of Lucifer’s for later but right now, all Sam can concentrate on is the man’s mouth around his cock that takes him even deeper now. When Sam’s cock hits the back of his throat, though, Lucifer keeps going until he can close his lips around the point where shaft meets groin. 

What is left of Sam’s control shatters as his mind explodes with the sensation and he buries one hand in Lucifer’s hair. Sam faintly realises that he is pushing Lucifer further onto his cock yet Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind - he merely goes with it, swallows around Sam’s girth until Sam hurtles over the edge and into orgasm. 

*

Lucifer pulls back enough to be able to breathe again and welcomes the spurts of warm liquid flooding his mouth when Sam comes with an animalistic groan, hand tightening in Lucifer’s hair. Lucifer sucks Sam dry, leaving his cock limp, sensitive and clean, slightly sheening with saliva. 

When Lucifer sits back on his heels to look up at the other man, Sam’s eyes are closed and his mouth is hanging open, an adequate expression of awe evident on his features. Lucifer takes a moment to admire Sam’s abs and chest before he rises, doing up his trousers as he does so, loving the contrast between his fully clothed self and Sam, shirtless with his trousers around his thighs, cock hanging free. 

While Sam tries to reboot his brain, Lucifer steps past the kitchen island and brews tea. He could call his house elf but he usually only relies on the creature for cleaning duties and breakfast, having never wanted to become as lazy as his family who rely on them for everything. 

“Are you making tea?” Sam’s voice is rough and Lucifer resists the urge to look around from where he is pouring two cups. 

“I’m sure we both could use the refreshment,” he quips, turning and setting both cups down, thus placing the kitchen island between him and Sam. The latter still hasn’t pulled up his trousers, yet at Lucifer’s raised eyebrow, he blushes and hurries to remedy the situation. 

They sip their tea in uncomfortable silence that Lucifer feels no urge to break. He has Sam exactly where he always wanted him, shirtless and sweaty in his apartment, and – above all – post-coital. 

It is Sam who speaks up first. “What are we doing?”

“Drinking tea,” Lucifer deadpans, unable to keep the smirk off his face. 

Sam rolls his eyes at him. “You know what I mean.”

Setting his cup down, Lucifer takes pity on him. “I believe we just had incredibly hot sex.”

“Yes, but what does it mean?”

Sam sounds as if he genuinely has no idea and fuck, Lucifer realises with a start, he probably doesn’t. This isn’t six months or a few years ago when they were mentally undressing each other across conference tables and eye-fucking each other during late nights at the office. This is post-Christmas, when Lucifer threw Sam against a wall and made clear that Draco takes precedence at the moment. This is Sam who is probably overwhelmed with conflicting emotions and who has still no idea why Lucifer turned him down in the first place all that time ago. 

And this is Lucifer, who never had any talent when it comes to dealing with genuine feelings. 

“Well, if you don’t know then I can’t help you either.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, or perhaps it was the tone that has Sam scowl at Lucifer and gather up his ruined t-shirt, fixing it with a wandless _Reparo_ before glaring at Lucifer and stalking out of the apartment. 

Bloody brilliant. 

*

Friday night finds Harry in Draco’s bedroom and the blond spread out under him while Harry maps the pale skin with his tongue, enjoying how Draco shivers and whimpers. 

He knows how good whimpers sound by now and trains his ears to catch up on the smallest change but the noises Draco makes remain positive so Harry relaxes, losing himself to the taste of Draco’s skin. 

They are taking their time, have spent the past half hour just kissing on the bed until Harry couldn’t keep his hands off Draco’s shirt anymore. Now it is the blond who grabs at Harry’s shoulder, pulling him up into another kiss before lifting the hem of Harry’s shirt. 

He complies easily, throwing the shirt into a corner and relishing the way his partner looks up at him, eyes roaming over his torso. 

A gentle hand against his chest pushes Harry off and onto his back until their positions are reversed. Harry rakes his eyes down Draco’s still clad body and with a huff, Draco shucks off his shirt before attacking the buttons of Harry’s jeans. Harry has been achingly hard for the past fifteen minutes and his cock jumps out eagerly. 

Draco chuckles at him but wraps long fingers around his length, working him slowly while keeping his eyes on Harry’s face the entire time. He tries to keep his eyes open, watch how hot Draco looks with sex-flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, but soon the pleasure builds up and Harry just has to throw his head back in a moan, thrusting his hips up into Draco’s tight fist. 

Draco’s other hand caresses the inside of Harry’s thigh, moving incrementally upward until it is fondling his balls and bloody hell, Draco is good at this. Harry positively yelps when he feels a finger brush against his hole but it doesn’t enter him yet. Draco teases the pucker, tracing the perineum until Harry doesn’t know whether to thrust forward or back. 

Suddenly, Draco’s finger is gone, drawing a whine from Harry and his eyes fly open. When he sees the blond sucking his index finger into his mouth, coating it with saliva, Harry groans. “Yes, Draco, please,” he blurts and watches Draco’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk. 

The hand on his cock slows but a slick finger presses against his opening, massaging the ring of muscle before breaching it. Draco works it into him slowly, thrusting in and out, always attentive, always watching Harry for a sign of discomfort. Sure, it feels strange, but in a good way, and if Harry is being completely honest with himself, he has done this to himself before, whenever he was alone in his bed, and imagined it was Draco doing it to him. 

He wants Draco to do a hell of a lot more to him than finger him, yet Harry knows they have to build up to it. 

Just then, Draco curls his finger, mapping out the walls of his arse and suddenly, a jolt of pleasure goes through Harry’s body. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, “do that again, please!”

Draco leers but complies, massaging his prostate while increasing the rhythm of his other hand. The stimulation is intense and before he knows it, the pleasure is pooling in his stomach and Harry comes so hard he sees stars. 

“Oh God,” Harry pants. “That was brilliant!”

“Good,” Draco comments and climbs off. Harry almost doesn’t notice that his voice sounds a tad off, not exactly uncomfortable but Harry decides to keep an eye on him. 

“Gimme a second,” he slurs, taking a deep breath, waiting for the post-orgasmic haze to clear. 

When it does, Harry rolls onto his side and helps Draco out of his pants and then proceeds giving him the most mind-blowing hand job of all times. He would have liked to blow him, but at the back of his mind, there is still a lurking worry regarding Draco’s strange tone, so he’d rather keep his eyes on Draco’s face. 

Something is definitely wrong – well, not _wrong_ per se, but at least not right. Harry knows how his partner looks when he is enjoying himself during a hand job, they have done this plenty of times and most of those even successfully. This time, however, there is a tension in the lines of Draco’s body that doesn’t come from arousal and his brows are furrowed as if he is trying desperately to lose himself in the experience. 

Harry caresses Draco’s chest and places a gentle kiss against the corner of Draco’s mouth. It comes completely unexpected apparently, for Draco jerks away. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Harry ceases his ministrations, resting his hand on Draco’s hip instead. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.“

“Draco, please, you can tell me.”

“It’s just… I…”

Harry waits patiently, meets Draco’s eyes when the blond looks up briefly as if assuring himself of Harry’s sincerity.

“It’s difficult,” is what he settles on. 

“Explain it to me. I want to understand and do better –“

“It’s not your fault,” Draco snaps, glancing at him apologetically immediately afterwards. “The prostate thing… I’ve been,” Draco swallows and Harry strokes his hipbone soothingly with his thumb, “thinking about the potion they used a lot in the past days. And about, you know. The black spaces in my memory.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, please.”

“I need to know Harry, all right? It’s my head and my memories; it’s my decision.”

“It is,” Harry agrees for lack of anything better to say. “So… about the prostate?”

“It’s silly, really. I flashed back to when they, uh, did that to me, with a…” Draco takes a deep breath. “With a Muggle toy and the thought just didn’t leave me alone after that I guess… I’m sorry.”

Draco glances down and Harry’s eyes follow, realising that Draco’s erection has deflated. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Harry insists. “I’m glad you told me.”

He kisses the blond, slow and self-assured until Draco melts against his mouth and relaxes tangibly. 

“I’ll wash up quickly,” he murmurs against Draco’s soft lips when they part, drawing away gently before disappearing into the bathroom, where Harry forms a plan for the following morning. 

*

The night is short for both of them. Harry wakes twice, the first time because Draco is thrashing on the mattress, whimpering from what sounds like a nightmare. Harry wakes him up with practised ease, holds him close when Draco accepts his hug and buries his head in Harry’s shoulder. 

The second time is worse – Draco is on his stomach, twisting underneath the sheets and babbling. It takes Harry’s mind a little before he processes the words. 

“I need something in me, sir, please sir, I need you to fill me up,“ Draco begs in his sleep, face distorted in clear agony. “Sir, please, give me your cock, I will be good, I promise, sir.”

What he hears chills Harry to the bone as he realises Draco isn’t thrashing this time, he is rutting against the mattress. 

“I‘m gagging for it, sir, please, I will be so good, I will get you off, let you come down my throat or on my face, I will do anything, please sir, let me suck you off.“

The last remark finally spurs Harry into action and he shakes Draco’s shoulder, willing him to _wake up, please, wake up now_. 

Draco freezes, the muscles under Harry’s hand growing tense as the blond wakes from the nightmare and realises what has been happening. A moment later, Draco is off the bed and inside the bathroom. Harry follows, adrenaline coursing through his body as he approaches slowly to where Draco is hunched over the toilet, retching painfully. 

He flinches when Harry touches his shoulder, rubbing circles into his skin through the fabric of his t-shirt, hoping it will calm him down or at the very least, assure him that he isn’t alone. 

Draco collapses against the bathroom wall once he is done and Harry gets up long enough to wet a cloth and offer it to Draco, who wipes his mouth. Harry takes the cloth back from him and throws it in the direction of the hamper, then sits down next to Draco, his back against the tiles, shoulders touching. 

“You should go back to bed,” Draco croaks. 

“I’m not leaving you here alone.”

“You should get some more sleep.”

“Why? We don’t have plans tomorrow morning. We might as well sleep in.”

Harry feels more than hears Draco turn his head towards him, so Harry mirrors him. His partner looks exhausted, eyes red and cheeks puffy but his eyes are wide. 

“I love you,” Draco all but blurts and then looks shocked at what he said and Harry’s jaw drops. “Sorry, this is in no way romantic, it wasn’t the place, I shouldn’t have said –“

“Draco,” Harry interrupts, trying to contain the sheer glee that suddenly fills him. “I love you, too.”

Wonder and amazement flicker across Draco’s face and Harry just has to lean in, has to kiss Draco right now or he thinks he might suffocate and the sensation is both incredibly scary as well as exhilarating at the same time. 

Before he can close the distance though, a hand on his chest stops him. 

“Don’t, Harry, I’m gross.”

Harry considers withdrawing but he knows how to read Draco and he knows when Draco is telling him not to do something simply because he thinks it would be an imposition for Harry. 

So instead Harry cups Draco’s face with his hands and looks him right in the eye. “I don’t care,” he whispers before kissing him. 

It’s not gross at all, it’s a sweet, gentle press of his lips against Draco’s and when it ends, Draco grips Harry’s t-shirt tightly and buries his head in the crook of Harry’s neck. 

Neither of them mentions the tears Harry saw shining in Draco’s eyes. 

*

Saturday passes slowly. They sleep till noon, have a lazy breakfast and get ready just in time for their session with Sam. 

Sam looks horrible. The dark circles under his eyes suggest he hasn’t slept much but the glare he shoots Draco makes it clear that he is in no mood to talk about it, so Harry doesn’t ask and neither does his partner. 

They go out to fly for a bit, come back with flushed cheeks, and hurry up to prepare for the evening. Draco will be with Jo and Emerson at Jo’s apartment for their movie night while Harry has to go to Ron and Hermione’s house for Ron’s birthday party.

Harry dreads it, just a bit. There will be a lot of people but in the end it’s all fine. Ron loves the vintage chess set Harry gives him and even seems to enjoy the wine and sweets Draco sent along, if the speed at which the Auror goes through them is any indication. 

Harry laughs, catches up with the Weasley siblings, has his ribs crushed by Molly and spends an hour telling Arthur about the internet, drinks butterbeer with his fellow Aurors, and excuses himself just before the mood swings from ‘slightly tipsy’ to ‘rat-arsed pissed’. 

The day and evening go so well that Harry should have seen it coming but he didn’t. All he can think about when he gets home to Draco’s flat is that he wanted to wake Draco with a blow job and in light of last night’s events opted against it, so now is his chance. 

They start kissing in the kitchen, Harry pulling Draco against his body as he walks them back until Harry’s back hits the fridge. 

Harry slips one hand beneath Draco’s shirt to stroke his skin while the other is roaming his body, eventually resting over the blond’s crotch and Draco moans. 

“I’d like to blow you,” Harry whispers into Draco’s ear. His answer is non-verbal, just a brief nod and a quick release of breath but it is all Harry needs. He turns Draco around, careful not to spin him too hard, and hits his knees less gracefully than he would have liked but Draco’s eyes are closed so he won’t care. 

Harry indulges in a bit of teasing, mouthing Draco’s cock through his trousers, rubbing his lips against the glans until the other man whimpers. Harry pulls both trousers and pants down at the same time and continues his teasing. He kisses the shaft and Draco’s balls, his hands resting on Draco’s narrow hips, stroking his hipbones with his thumbs, then licks up a stripe along the underside of his cock before he closes his lips around the tip. When he tongues the slit, tasting precome, Draco moans above him and one hand finds its way into Harry’s messy hair. 

He works himself up to it, taking more and more of Draco’s cock into his mouth with every try, relaxing his jaw and sucking as good as he can. He is incredibly proud of himself when Draco slowly but surely is reduced to a panting and moaning mess above him, lost in pleasure. Harry releases Draco’s hips and grips his shaft with one hand while the other wanders down to Draco’s balls, paying close attention to the sounds Draco makes just in case he does the wrong thing. 

In the end, it’s not really his fault. 

Draco’s hips jerk forward and Harry isn’t prepared – he chokes and coughs, pulling off quickly but he knows his teeth scraped a bit (a lot, judging by the intensity of Draco’s wince). What is weird, though, is that Draco isn’t apologising immediately like he usually would but instead he is still breathing hard as he stares into space. 

“Draco, everything all right?” Harry sits up on his heels, reaching out a hand to touch Draco’s hip but the man flinches and apparently snaps out of his daze. 

“I’m sorry, I should have controlled myself,” he stammers, voice thin. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I remembered something, just a flash. I’m not sure…”

Harry has no reply but he sees that Draco’s libido has lost interest, so he pulls Draco’s pants and trousers back up where his partner’s hands take over fastening them. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says immediately but Draco’s face contorts in what Harry realises is anger. 

“It’s not fine! Stop saying it’s fine when I’ve just ruined the evening!” 

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know! Get angry for a change!”

“Angry – Draco, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“You can’t tell me you like these interruptions.”

“No, but I don’t hate them either. We have come such a long way and we’ll make more progress, all right? It’s understandable you’re a bit more,” Harry pauses, searching for the right word, “tense, so shortly before the trial.”

“You’re still watching my every move whenever we do anything, don’t think I haven’t noticed. It shouldn’t be like that – you shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Says who?”

“Don’t be so bloody understanding! Hell, we’ve been together for three months now and we can’t even tackle blow jobs!”

“We’re not on a schedule.”

Draco turns around and punches the fridge door hard enough to make Harry wince. Draco stays there, his face resting against the door as his shoulders start shaking so Harry takes a tentative step forward. 

“I know it sucks and I know you’re probably frustrated as hell that it’s going slow but can’t you trust me enough to tell you when I’m not satisfied anymore? I promise I’ll tell you when I get annoyed but so far it hasn’t happened. So please stop worrying so much about me and start feeling good about what you’ve accomplished till now.”

Draco turns around, drawing a shaky breath. He still looks furious as he glares at Harry, opening his mouth to say something but never seeing it through until finally, he sighs. 

“Please, can you go? I don’t want to yell at you and if you stay, that’s what I’ll be doing.”

Harry can’t help the pang of disappointment and the sudden fear of sleeping alone but he nods anyway, stepping forward to, well, kiss Draco good-bye? But Draco cringes away from the touch so Harry leaves it be, grabs his coat, and leaves. 

Back at Grimmauld Place, he tries to stall for the longest time possible but his eyes start to droop eventually and he knows he should sleep since he doubts he’ll get much rest the night before the trial starts. 

In his dreams he is alone in the Forbidden Forrest with the resurrection stone and the shadows of the dead, yet for some reason they have no voice and the Forrest is quiet. Then the dead die again and Harry can’t do anything, can but watch as a green jet of light slays his parents, as Sirius falls through the veil, and one by one the shadows disappear. 

Harry wakes drenched in cold sweat at five in the morning, screaming himself hoarse but no one is there to hear it. 

*

Draco feels like shite the next morning. Not only did he ruin a perfectly fine day, he also chased Harry away and made him sleep alone. 

He can’t regret asking Harry to leave, however. Draco would have lashed out, said things he’d have regretted, things he could have never taken back. What he can do, though, is go over to Grimmauld Place now and hope that everything is still good between the two of them. 

As much as Draco fears loosing Harry from lack of actual sex, he is equally terrified that one of his intricacies might chase the Boy Who Lived Again off, never to return. 

He finds Harry in the library thanks to a rather helpful Kreacher, where he reads a book by the fireplace in the flames’ light. He doesn’t look particularly rested and his shoulders are tense. Draco steps forward, causing one of the floorboards to creak, which echoes loud inside the quiet room.

Harry whips around, eyes wide until they fall on Draco in the doorway. They stare at each other for long time, no one moving or speaking. Draco feels vulnerable suddenly, unsure of whether or not he is intruding, if Harry wants to see him, if maybe he shouldn’t have come, if yesterday counts as an actual fight, and if being here jeopardises Draco’s chances of reconciliation. 

Of course the former Gryffindor reacts first, closing his book and rising from the chair. Harry walks over with quick footsteps and pulls Draco into a hug. He doesn’t react, too surprised to do anything for a second or two, until Draco wraps his arms around the other man as well. 

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispers. 

“It’s all right,” Harry whispers back and they stay like that, arm in arm, basking in each other’s warmth for a while longer. 

“I’m so sorry,” Draco whispers again, unable to hold it back but Harry kisses him on the cheek immediately. 

“You’re forgiven,” he murmurs and pulls back enough for their eyes to meet. Harry looks sure of his decision and Draco feels the tension leave his shoulders. 

“How are you?” Draco asks as soon as they have disentangled themselves and are standing about awkwardly once more. 

“I’m fine.”

Harry sounds sincere enough, yet Draco can’t quite bring himself to take it at face value. “You sure?”

“Yes, Draco.”

“How about I take you out for breakfast?” The ‘to make up for the colossal idiot I acted like yesterday’ is implied. 

Harry smiles brightly, saying, “Give me a second to change,” and kissing Draco on the cheek. 

*

Sam visits Grimmauld Place over lunch, bringing take-out and a last-minute list of possible questions and Draco can’t help but worry about the lawyer. 

“How much have you slept in the past week?” Draco asks over tea and watches as Sam runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. 

“Enough.”

“Sam, this trial isn’t worth ruining your health over.”

Tired brown eyes meet Draco’s. “I assure you, I do nothing more than what I’m willing to do. Besides, sometimes at Triple M, I had worse weeks.”

Draco wants to object yet a glare from Sam proves as effective as a silencing spell. 

“Did you get Lucifer’s owl?” Harry asks to change the topic and it is almost smooth, Draco has to admit, feeling slightly proud. 

Sam swallows and seems to have to force himself to nod. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. See you at six, then?” 

Producing a smile, Sam gathers his documents. “If you want to have some time alone before Lucifer’s dinner, you can just say so.” 

“All right,” Draco drawls. “My boyfriend and I would like to have another two hours to ourselves without our lawyer in the room. Please leave.”

It is worth to see Sam chuckle as he leaves the house. They spend the time until they have to get ready on the sofa, curling up together and snogging lazily, without pressure or plans to take it further, and by the time the clock on the mantelpiece chimes five-thirty, Draco’s head is dizzy and his lips are swollen. Harry looks equally dashing, he has to admit. 

“Come now, Potter, society calls.”

Harry snorts. “How is a group of four people society in your world?”

“Seriously, do I need to carry a flag with me that reads ‘sarcasm’ and wave it around whenever I use it?”

Harry blinks at him. “Have you been watching Muggle sit-coms again?”

Draco shrugs elusively and Harry laughs, chugging a pillow after him as he ventures into Harry’s bedroom for a change of clothes. It’s only when he closes the wardrobe to don one of this nicer robes that it occurs to him that his things have taken over half of Harry’s closet. 

“Did you realise I’ve moved in here without actually asking?” he wonders out loud when Harry enters a moment later. 

“Only a few days ago or so. When I was looking for a pair of pyjamas that I was sure I owned and found a few of yours instead and then I remembered that I had taken mine over to your place.”

They undress in silence after that for a few minutes. 

“I like that half my closet is filled with your inferior fabrics,” Draco confesses, which earns him another pillow to the head that he easily dodges. “I’m glad you weren’t a chaser, Potter, Gryffindor would have lost every game with aim like that.”

“My aim’s perfect, shut up. Your reflexes are just better.”

Draco gives in to the urge of sticking his tongue out at Harry who laughs at him, mumbling something about him being “very mature”. 

“But frankly,” Harry continues while buttoning up his robes, “I don’t mind. I like it, too.”

“Good.” They share a smile and a sensual kiss before grabbing their cloaks. 

*

Dinner at Lucifer’s is nice. They all sit around the designer table on designer chairs that Draco’s back appreciates immensely. Harry makes a point of praising Lucifer’s house-elf Lilith for her excellent cooking and immediately receives several packages of leftovers from the creature. 

Draco has to bite his fist to keep himself from laughing and even Sam is smiling now. Sam, who is surprisingly aloof towards Lucifer and doesn’t make eye contact with him unless he absolutely has to. 

“What is going on between you and Sam?” Draco asks bluntly while the man in question is helping Harry put the leftovers in a bag and they are bringing everyone’s drinks to Lucifer’s sofa. 

“Nothing.”

Draco fixes the man with a long, hard look. 

“It’s a process,” Lucifer finally admits, “to which you won’t be privy to. I will tell you once we’ve reached the final stage.”

“All right,” Draco replies, drawing out the second half of his answer. He would have liked to probe deeper yet that is when Harry and Sam return and they all flop down on the couch. Well, Harry flops down with the grace of really young kitten while Draco sinks down into the cushions and then immediately moans in a rather obscene manner. 

“Bloody hell, this couch is the work of the devil!”

“Befitting then, wouldn’t you say,” Lucifer quips, making Sam chuckle before choking it down immediately – but Draco doesn’t care at the moment.

“I will steal this couch when I leave.”

“As your lawyer, I have to advise against that.”

“I don’t care. This is what I imagine clouds feel like.”

Next to him, Harry is humming contentedly, his eyes closed as he, too, relishes their sitting arrangements. 

“When you two are quite finished despoiling my furniture, I’d like to propose a toast,” Lucifer announces from his chair and both of them sit up unwillingly and grab their drinks. “First of all to Draco, the best associate I ever had, and a very brave man who will bring three evil bastards to justice.” Lucifer inclines his head and looks at Harry next. “To the Boy Who Makes Draco Happy and his incredible support during this hard time.” Finally and with barely noticeable hesitation, Lucifer turns towards Sam who is occupying the second chair. “And to Sam, the best, most passionate lawyer anyone can wish for.”

“And to you,” Draco interrupts before they can clink glasses. “The man who gave me a chance when everyone else ignored me, who rescued me from my own mind and whom I am proud of being able to call my friend.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Harry decides, starting them off as they bring their glasses together. Draco makes sure to smile especially brightly at Sam just to cheer the lawyer up. 

The conversation ventures into greener pastures then, revolves more about trivial things and what plans Lucifer has for their new firm, which will hopefully kick off during the first week of April. 

“I can’t believe you’re going with that name!” Draco grouses, not at all appeased by Harry’s hand patting his shoulder. 

“Come on, Milton’s and Malfoy’s Malicious Monetary Machinations is brilliant! It will make people laugh and never forget you!”

“Also, the business cards look stunning,” Lucifer points out with a smirk. 

Meanwhile, Sam looks like he swallowed a lemon drop. “You’re going to start your own firm.”

Silence falls as Draco remembers with a shock that he never asked Lucifer if he had told Sam about L&M already. The answer is rather self-evident now, though. 

“Yes. Draco is going to be junior partner. And some people say I only care for myself. I wonder what these people would say now.” Lucifer’s tone has dropped to arctic temperatures, making it rather easy for Draco to piece together how that particular conversation between his lawyer and his former as well as future boss must have gone down. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that when I got fired?”

“I do remember you being rather emphatic about my silence. And after that right hook I didn’t want to risk eliciting further bouts of violence from you.”

Sam scowls and makes to speak yet Lucifer talks over him. 

“But that’s not why we’re here. We’re here to relax and enjoy the calm before the storm tomorrow.”

He succeeds in silencing Sam, yet the tension the man exudes lingers the entire evening. An hour later, Draco decides it is time to leave them to resolving their issues and drags Harry off, thanking Lucifer for his hospitality and telling Sam that yes, they knew where they agreed on meeting and no, they would not be fashionably late, before escaping from the loft and into the building. 

*

“How about a film?” 

Draco is nervous, Harry can tell. It is the slight twitch in his hands that give it away. Not that he can’t understand because he does. The past few nights haven’t been exactly easy, so of course Draco will be anxious, especially when tomorrow he will come face to face with his attackers once again. 

“I have a suggestion,” Harry blurts but it comes out so fast it might have just been one single yet long word. 

“Pardon?”

“I have a suggestion,” he says more clearly. “An idea. Something I’d like us to try.”

Draco’s bows furrow as he approaches, abandoning his DVD library. “What is it?”

Harry tugs at his shirtsleeve, pulling him down onto the sofa next to Harry. “Lucifer’s couch was really great,” he says, earing a stern glance from the blond. 

“You’re making me nervous. More nervous.”

“I’m sorry! It’s just… hard to ask this.”

“Ask. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Good point. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, so don’t ask if I’m sure, all right? Because I am.”

“Fine, but what are you talking about?”

“I would like us to,” Harry takes a deep breath, willing himself to spell out the four letter word that would describe his intentions perfectly, but what comes out instead is, “go all the way tonight.”

Draco blinks at him. “You want to, uh, have sex?”

“Yes. If you want to. I’ve been thinking about it, imagining it and sometimes you did, you know. While you were touching me…” And now he is blushing like a teenager, Harry realises as he feels the flush spread across his cheeks. Damn it, why can’t he just say it?

“You want me to fuck you?” Draco does it for him, looking more worried than excited. All right, Harry anticipated that. So far this is going fine. 

“Yes. I think we’re ready and I’d really like to try. I’ve been wanting to ask you for the past few days but the time never seemed right.”

Draco stares at him, lips parted. “Are you –“

“Yes.”

“What if it goes wrong?” Draco’s question is barely more than a whisper. 

“Then it goes wrong. It’s not our only chance.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Isn’t it supposed to hurt a bit?”

Draco shrugs one-sidedly. “It can be quite painful.”

Harry steps closer, taking Draco’s hands between his and looks him straight in the eye. “I trust you.”

The silence stretches for a very long time but Harry doesn’t want to rush Draco’s decision despite how much he hopes it will be positive. 

“Yes,” Draco breathes out eventually and Harry surges forward, kissing Draco for all he is worth. 

Draco seems to gain confidence for he starts walking them across the living room and into the bedroom. They don’t break the kiss except for donning their respective shirts and then their lips connect once more and Draco’s bare chest is pressing against Harry’s, pushing him into the mattress. 

Draco shifts, pushing one leg between Harry’s and the pressure on his erections makes him groan deep in his throat. 

“Too many clothes,” Harry pants and Draco rolls of, hands going for his own belt and trouser buttons. Once they are both naked, Harry turns onto his side, watching Draco and allowing his eyes to rake over the lithe body, taking in the pale skin that seems to almost glow in the low light from the bedside lamp. 

“So how does this work?” Harry asks, his voice rough from both arousal and nerves. 

“There are spells to prepare you,” Draco says, fishing his wand out from the pile of clothes on the floor, granting Harry a brilliant view of his back and buttocks. “How would you like to do this?” 

For a second, Harry is confused until he realises Draco is asking which position he would prefer. “I’d like to see you, if that’s all right?”

Draco smiles shyly. “Of course.” Then he moves with his inherent elegance and grace that Harry can only envy from afar, and straddles Harry’s hips. When Draco chuckles, Harry raises questioning eyebrows at him. “I’m just thinking I never told you about my first time.”

“No, you didn’t,” he answers easily, even though the thought of anyone else with Draco wakes a familiar feeling inside of him. 

Draco’s hands travel up and down his chest, caress his sides and generally make Harry’s skin tingle. “It was in an abandoned classroom with Theo.”

“At Hogwarts?”

“Yes. I have to say a bed is much preferable,” he murmurs, leaning forward to flick his tongue over Harry’s left nipple. 

Harry surrenders to Draco’s tongue and mouth and in no time, his cock is resting on his stomach, beading precome everywhere. Draco scoots back to sit on his heels between Harry’s parted legs. He brushes his knuckles against Harry’s cock and Harry moans obscenely but his hand travels further, past his balls to his hole, circling it with one finger. Draco’s eyes are on Harry, watching him from under his lashes. 

“Lift up,” he says, pushing a pillow under the small of Harry’s back while his right hand never stops teasing Harry’s hole. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Harry manages, though it is hard to concentrate when Draco’s finger against him feels so bloody good. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Draco, please, do it!” 

The blond leans forward to steal a kiss while his hand snatches up the wand from the bedside table. He whispers an incantation and suddenly, a strange sensation fills Harry’s arse. 

“That’s the lubrication charm. I’m going to stretch you now, all right?”

Harry nods, waiting for it now and when the spell takes effect, he can’t help the whimper. 

“Good?”

“Bloody brilliant,” Harry musters, fisting his hands in the sheets because the need to stroke his cock is overwhelming and he doesn’t want to come too soon. He wants to enjoy this. 

He feels Draco’s fingers enter him first, teasing the walls of muscle inside of him and then, without warning, a jolt of pleasure rushes through Harry.

“Fuck!” 

Draco is smirking when their eyes meet and his finger withdraws but before Harry can protest he feels the head of Draco’s cock nudge his perineum. Harry nods frantically, forcing his eyes to stay open and watch as his partner inches forward, his expression somewhere between pleasure and worry. 

The stretch feels weird – Draco is bigger than Harry’s fingers could ever be but the spells have left him well prepared. There is no pain, to his surprise, not even when Draco bottoms out and releases a shaky breath. He kisses Harry’s stomach and licks at the abs when they twitch under his ministrations while giving Harry time to adjust. 

“It feels good,” he says eventually, when the awkwardness has passed and his body has accepted the intrusion. 

“I’m going to move, then,” Draco tells him, “but if at any point during this it hurts or you want to stop, just say it and I will.”

“I promise.”

Their eyes hold for a brief moment and then Draco is pulling back, just a little, before sliding back in, building a slow rhythm that burns in the most incredible way imaginable. Harry notices Draco changing his angle a few times and he wonders about it until Draco finds his prostate again and Harry arches off the mattress, moaning loudly. 

“Do that again, please,” Harry says, not caring if he is begging. 

Draco complies, making stars explode on the inside of Harry’s eyelids with very thrust and soon, Harry is asking him to go _faster, harder, please Draco, oh my God_ , and Draco does so every time until Harry is a sweaty mess, whimpering stupid things, high on the pleasure. 

The hand closing around his erection is a shock and Harry would have almost come right then. It takes a few thrusts until Draco has mastered to coordinate the rhythm but once he has, Harry can feel the heat pooling in his groin. 

“Fuck – Draco, I’m close,” he manages. 

Draco leans forward at a particularly intense thrust to capture Harry’s lips between his but the hand on Harry’s cock never stops. 

“Come for me, Harry,” Draco whispers into the shell of his ear, after which he pulls out and thrusts back in, brushing Harry’s prostate and that’s it, he is done, spending himself all over his stomach and Draco’s hand. He can feel himself convulsing around Draco’s erection and before Harry’s orgasm is over, he feels Draco’s cock jerk inside of him, filling him with come and this is his new favourite sensation in the world, Harry’s clouded brain decides.

He doesn’t feel it when Draco pulls out of him but he must have for Draco flops down next to him on the mattress, breathing just as heavily as he is. 

“Wow,” Harry offers. He knows saying how great it was might be a bit pathetic but he doesn’t care – Draco needs to know it didn’t hurt, that it was fantastic and that everything is fine. 

Draco blinks at him over the sheets, his cheeks flushed. “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay, I’m brilliant.” He means it and he can see it in Draco’s eyes that the blond feels his sincerity. 

“It didn’t hurt?”

“It was a tad uncomfortable at first but nothing bad.” When Draco still looks worried, Harry shuffles closer. “No, it didn’t hurt.”

That earns him a radiant smile and a sweet kiss after which they just look at each other for long minutes. 

“We did it,” Draco whispers and his tone is to triumphant that it makes Harry want to break Jones’ nose all over again. 

“And we’re going to do it again soon.”

Draco snorts but he is smiling and even though he ends up in the shower eventually, Harry thinks the evening went quite well. 

*

The shower is hot, cleansing, and unusually short yet Draco feels confident enough to step out after a few minutes. He towels off and looks at his reflection in the mirror. 

Yes, his cheekbones are still more prominent than they should be and the rings under his eyes are still there but all in all, the person staring back looks more like the Draco Malfoy he is used to seeing. 

A small smile forms and soon develops into a huge grin. 

He did it. 

He had sex with Harry. 

No matter what tomorrow and the first session of the trial will bring, no one can take this from him. 

*

The door clicks shut behind Harry and Draco. Lucifer wants to stall on his way back, knowing fully well that he won’t like the conversation that will follow his reveal. 

It was safest to expose his plans to Sam when they weren’t alone, minimizing the anger Sam might have thrown his way and an hour ago, that had seemed like a great plan. Now, however, Lucifer isn’t so sure anymore. 

When he re-enters the dining room, Sam is standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the door, shoulders tense underneath his flannel shirt. He looks stunning, a solid wall of muscle and anger, and Lucifer wants to rip his clothes off and tie him to his bed for a solid month. Maybe longer. 

“Let me get this straight,” Sam breaks the silence, his voice shaking with rage. “You asked Draco to join you in founding your own firm, then manipulated your brothers into firing both of you while I was left in the dark, with no clue, no hope, just another bystander caught up in the evil plans of Lucifer Milton.”

“If I said you weren’t meant to be fired, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“Good. Because that was never an option.”

Sam spins around, glaring curses at him. “So what was the plan? Don’t lie to me, you always have a plan and you always calculate every possible angle so tell me. What. Your. Plan. Was,” Sam spits out, “or I will do worse than punch you and your demon powers won’t help one bit.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “You think you can take me out? Catch me in a devil’s trap? What, perform a nice little exorcism and rip me apart?”

“I’d find a way.”

“I’m sure you would,” Lucifer murmurs, squaring his shoulders. This is his chance to come clean, tell Sam everything and he wants to yet something is stopping him and he can’t put a finger on what. 

“So?”

“I need a drink,” he announces, leaving the dining room and proceeding into the living room. He retrieves his strongest scotch and pours a generous amount. “You, too?”

Sam crosses his arms. 

“All right.” 

Lucifer tips his head back and swallows but a drop trickles down his chin and throat. He can feel Sam watching as he brings a finger to his skin to swipe it up, then licks it off his finger with his tongue. Then he refills his glass so he has something to occupy his hands. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“That’s a little vague for a lawyer of your calibre, Sammy.”

Sam scoffs at the nickname. “What was your plan?”

“I’ve always wanted to be my own boss. Who wouldn’t? Especially when you have to deal with Michael and Raphael on a regular basis. However, starting your own firm is an expensive endeavour not to be undertaken lightly.”

“That’s where Draco comes in.”

“Exactly. I knew I needed an associate, a partner in crime, so to speak. Draco was the perfect man at the perfect time.”

“So what now?”

“I have completed the paperwork. The RCMF should approve it within the next four weeks. L&M will be in business before the first week of April draws to a close and the grand Triple M Client Exodus of 2003 may begin.”

Sam laughs bitterly, shaking a strand of hair out of his face. “I knew you’d want to hurt your brothers.”

“I’m a bad man, what can I say.”

Silence stretches between them and Lucifer gulps down most of his second refill. His throat burns deliciously as the scotch goes down. 

“What about me, then?” Sam asks softly, as if he isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. 

Lucifer draws a deep breath. He can tell the man that he was meant to join L&M but that he thought Sam wouldn’t want to anymore after the incident at Christmas and loosing his job. 

Or he could tell the complete truth. There is a thought. 

_Well_ , Lucifer muses, setting the glass down loud _clink_ , _this will either break everything or mend it_. 

“I want to make something inescapably clear to you, Sam.”

He doesn’t react yet now Lucifer can be sure he has the man’s full attention. 

“I’ve had the plan of starting my own firm for many years. Before, however, I had neither the reputation nor the potential client list nor the financial means necessary to undertake such an endeavour. As to your role… You were meant to join me. Every good accounting firm needs a lawyer and while I know you went into law to help people, you can’t do much pro bono work without a brilliant salary. I can offer you both. Money as well as the freedom to take on as many important causes as you like. That was before Christmas, though.”

“You mean you didn’t tell me because you thought I’d say no?”

“Yes. And that would have been your decision, wouldn’t it?”

Sam’s silence is answer enough. 

“So after Christmas, my plan changed. I knew you’d be fired if you took Draco’s case. I needed a way to make you agree to represent Draco, which is why I looked into your family to find the right kind of leverage. Then, once you were fired, I would have made you an offer you couldn’t have refused. I failed to calculate, however, how mad you’d actually be.”

Sam groans, uncrossing his arms. “Of course, and when you tried to explain, I hit you.”

“Give the lawyer a golden star, he’s right.”

Lucifer watches Sam mull the new information over, process the misunderstandings. He wants to ask whether Sam can imagine working for L&M despite everything but he still has his pride. He won’t ask Sam for anything. 

“Any more questions?” he asks as his skin starts to itch since the other man still seems to be deep in contemplation. 

“Yes, actually…” Sam clears his throat and he meets Lucifer’s gaze for a second before averting his eyes again. Is he nervous? 

“Well, go on. I have plans for tomorrow. And so do you, by the way.”

Another glare, then Sam’s expression sobers in the blink of an eye. “What I still don’t get is… I kissed you once. And you shot me down. What changed?”

Lucifer swallows hard. “I’m no longer your superior.”

“That’s bullshit! The fraternization laws at Triple M weren’t that strict!”

“But the personal restrictions my brothers placed on me were!” Lucifer growls, anger flooding his veins. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you think people noticed our flirting? Well, we weren’t exactly subtle, were we? Michael didn’t like it so he told me to put an end to it or he’d fire me for misconduct.”

Sam stares. “What did he have against that?”

“I was already in the focus of the press back then. How would it have looked, Sammy? A senior partner involved with a new rookie. You’re a good lawyer; you were bound to climb high on the corporate ladder. Any connection to me would have smeared your image and thus, that of the firm.”

“Then why didn’t you fight it?”

“I didn’t have the means to leave Triple M back then. I would have failed on my own. I won’t now.”

Sam stares for a moment longer before his expression changes into a calculating smile. 

As Lucifer raises an eyebrow at him, he has many possible scenarios in his mind but nothing even comes close to the words Sam actually says. 

“I get it. You wanted to fight it but couldn’t so instead of telling me the truth you made sure I’d think I don’t stand a chance with you. While in reality I do.”

Lucifer locks his jaw and doesn’t meet Sam’s eye. 

“Come on, I know I’m right.”

His pulse quickens but Lucifer is paralysed. He couldn’t have said anything even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. He won’t talk about his feelings and he will not experience a heart-felt moment with Sam Winchester. He is not that kind of man.

The man in question is walking across the room with slow, deliberate steps as if close proximity will force an answer from Lucifer. 

“Say it,” Sam murmurs and leans forward, resting his hands on either side of Lucifer’s shoulders on the cabinet that holds his liquor. Sam is close enough that the smell of him fills Lucifer’s nostrils. That and the scotch are a heady combination, making his head spin. 

Suddenly Sam leans forward and there is a tongue on his throat. Sam licks a path from the crook of his neck up to his jaw and to his ear where he brushes his lips against the shell and whispers, “Come on, Lucifer. Say it.”

Lucifer supresses a shudder. “If you’re looking for some sort of declaration, Sammy, you won’t get it. The same goes for flowers and gifts and other ridiculous gestures.”

Sam hesitates for a second and Lucifer thinks – _fears_ – that this is it; Sam will withdraw and storm out. But instead he presses closer until their chests are flush against one another’s and his lips are back on Lucifer’s skin. 

“Okay.”

That is the only warning Lucifer receives before teeth bite down on his neck and there is no hiding his shudder now. His body has developed a mind of its own, apparently, for it arches into Sam’s and that’s it, Lucifer’s eyes slide shut and his hands come up around Sam’s torso. He spins them around, never interrupting the contact and slams the man against the cabinet to his left. The force of impact makes the glasses inside rattle yet no one cares. 

Lucifer rakes his hands over every inch of Sam while his mouth seeks Sam’s and then they are devouring each other; there is no other word for it. When Lucifer draws back to catch his breath, he flicks his wrist and vanishes Sam’s shirt, revealing the toned body underneath. There on his left pectoral muscle is a tattoo, shielding the bearer against demon possession, Lucifer’s mind supplies and then his tongue is on it while his left hand comes up to pinch Sam’s nipple. 

The other man groans, hands tugging on Lucifer’s long-sleeved t-shirt until Lucifer gives in, releases Sam’s chest, and pulls of the offending item. He feels Sam’s eyes on his skin before his hands reach out to touch and Lucifer uses the position to walk them backwards to the sofa where he pushes Sam onto it just before sinking down onto the man’s lap, straddling his hips. 

As he sinks down he can feel Sam’s erection through his jeans and the sensation sends a spark through Lucifer’s body. Strong arms wind around his torso and then Sam’s hands are on his arse, squeezing and pushing him onto Sam until their groins touch. 

“Fuck,” Sam moans, seeking Lucifer’s mouth again for a breath-taking kiss. 

Just for the thrill of it, Lucifer climbs off Sam and pushes him to his side, face-first into the sofa cushions, and drapes himself over Sam’s back, grinding his still-clothed cock against Sam’s buttocks. 

Sam makes a sound that can’t be from this world, halfway between aroused and annoyed but incredibly sexy, and pushes back into Lucifer until he loses himself in the rhythm, tongue tracing the enticing muscles in Sam’s back. 

It catches him off guard when Sam flips them over so that he is on top of Lucifer, settled between his parted legs and towering over him. Sam bites Lucifer’s lip harder than he probably intended but Lucifer just growls, arching his back off the sofa in a desperate search for friction. 

Sam rests his weight on one hand while the other cups Lucifer through his trousers. 

“Too many clothes,” Lucifer manages to gasp and then gets to watch Sam sit back on his heels and undo his belt-buckle. He licks his lips and rolls off the sofa, mirroring Sam’s actions. He is the first to drop his trousers and pants to the floor, his erect cock drawing Sam’s attention away from his own clothes. 

Smirking, Lucifer steps into Sam’s space, moving his hips a bit to make his intentions clear. Sam stares up at him, mouth open and he complies, lips closing around Lucifer’s cock, and then there is suction and a tongue massaging his glands and Lucifer’s world narrows down to him and Sam and nothing else. 

Sam might not be the best at oral sex yet he makes up for his shortcomings in enthusiasm; also it is Sam, which is a turn-on in its own. While Sam’s attention is focussed on Lucifer’s cock, he reaches a hand around himself to perform the necessary spells non-verbally and wandlessly, partly because he can’t be bothered to fetch his wand since it would delay the moment of Sam being inside of him even more, and partly to blow Sam’s mind for the lawyer has no idea what Lucifer just did. 

With great satisfaction Lucifer watches the surprise in Sam’s eyes as he draws back, taking his cock away from Sam who chases it with his mouth before opening his eyes again. He pushes him back into the cushions, noting that Sam’s trousers and pants are still in the way so he pulls them off enough to expose Sam’s cock. It is glorious, just like Lucifer remembers from the blow job on Friday and he lifts his hips, his own erection twitching in anticipation. 

Sam’s eyes widen when he catches on to Lucifer’s plan. 

“Oh my god.”

“’Oh my Satan’ would be more accurate,” Lucifer quips, sinking down and relishing the delicious stretch. It has been far too long since his last good fuck and he probably should have prepared himself more thoroughly but the more of Sam’s cock is inside him, the less he cares. 

By the time Sam is fully sheathed, Lucifer is breathing heavily and Sam isn’t faring much better. Both of his hands grip Lucifer’s hips while Lucifer’s hands wander from the back of the couch to Sam’s shoulders and then they are moving, Lucifer dictating the rhythm. 

The only sounds in the room are their moans, whimpers, and various curses as well as the sound of skin on sweaty skin. It is music to Lucifer’s ears. He leans forward, licking at Sam’s nipples since the man seems to be really sensitive in that area and he isn’t disappointed. Biting down almost makes Sam break their rhythm so Lucifer keeps going, moving up to Sam’s neck because he appears to be fond of that spot if the bruise on Lucifer’s throat is any indication. 

Fingernails are digging into his hips hard enough to leave marks but the thought only feeds Lucifer’s arousal. He will be wearing Sam’s marks underneath his clothes tomorrow and the day after that and by then, hopefully new marks will overshadow the old ones. 

Sam shifts on the sofa, changing the angle slightly and, _bloody hell, that’s it_ , Lucifer shouts as Sam’s cock brushes his prostate. Now that he found it, Sam doesn’t ease up. He uses his considerable upper body strength to hold Lucifer in place as he fucks up into him, forcing him to hold onto Sam’s biceps because the sheer force of the thrusts makes him jolt and buries Sam’s cock unimaginably deeper inside of his body. 

Perhaps trying to regain some control, Lucifer digs his fingernails into Sam’s arms until he sees the man wincing in pain and with a deliberate roll of his hips, he elicits a guttural moan from him, distracting him enough to make him lose his rhythm so that Lucifer can take over. Their battle for dominance is thrilling and Lucifer has never experienced anything like it. 

They share a messy kiss, all teeth and tongue and saliva that ends with Lucifer biting Sam’s lower lip, which apparently is the last straw for him. Lucifer feels the cock inside him spill and he clenches down, intent on milking the man for every last drop. He is not prepared for Sam’s big hand on his erection or the mouth over his pulse point. Buggered from behind and wanked in the front, Lucifer can but surrender to the heat in his stomach and the hardest orgasm of his life. 

He coats Sam’s chest with his come, marking him in his own way and when Sam smears the fluid all over his skin with his hand and then bring it up to his mouth to lick it off, Lucifer’s cock twitches in a feeble attempt to come back for round two. 

But his thighs are complaining by now and if he doesn’t move now, it will only hurt Sam in an entirely unerotic way so Lucifer pulls himself off Sam’s cock and flops down unusually graceless next to the man. 

They sit there, panting, as Lucifer’s come cools on Sam’s chest and Sam’s come trickles out of Lucifer, both completely shagged out and riding the most intense post-orgasmic high of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans herself* This fic needed more porn, seriously. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it!  
> Took me a while but I finally decided that, for their first time at least, Lucifer will be topping from the bottom :) Next chapter will be more serious though. Enjoy it while it lasts.
> 
> As always, comments make me incredibly happy! And you can find me on tumblr [ here ](http://keep-calm-and-read-fanfic.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> I might not have the next update ready by next Saturday... Sorry! Oh, but I'm doing [a giveaway on Tumblr](http://keep-calm-and-read-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/78437996032/thanks-to-my-incessant-oscar-blogging-ive-gained). You can win a 1,500 word fanfic based on a prompt of your choosing :)  
> PS: I was thinking of Big Bang Theory at the sarcasm-flag comment, but it only started broadcasting in 2007 so…. I’m sure they’re not the first who had character with sarcasm flags.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial commences and for the first time since January, Draco faces his attackers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First order of the day - publish the new chapter :) (It's my birthday, so be kind to me^^)
> 
> Well, part II was meant to focus on the trial and here I am, nine chapters in and we’re finally there! I guess I’m just a tad nervous about writing the actual trial since all my legal knowledge stems from movies and a few seasons of Suits. But I came to realise that it doesn’t matter - this is my version of Wizarding juridical proceedings. It leans heavily on real life but it’s basically an AU version. So be kind. :) 
> 
> Jessica Hardman – a homage to Jessica Pearson, senior partner at Pearson Hardman, the legal firm of _Suits_ , played by the amazingly sensual and beautiful Gina Torres.

“Take a deep breath, Draco,” Harry tells him patiently. “I’ll be right behind you with Lucifer.”

“Stop, you’re making me more nervous than I already am,” Draco snaps at him but fortunately it shuts his partner up. 

They are about to enter the Wizard’s Courtroom where Stewart, Aiden, and Vince will already be waiting and Draco feels more and more lightheaded. Well, that might be related to him missing both breakfast and lunch and the nausea still makes it hard to even think of food. 

“It’s time, Draco.”

He blinks up at Sam who tries to smile reassuringly and, surprisingly, succeeds. Harry squeezes Draco’s hand although it is abundantly clear he would have preferred a kiss. Draco would have as well, yet the hallways of the Wizard’s Court are busy and they can’t risk exposure. 

Draco follows his lawyer into the room. The hearing is by no means public, yet a few people have still found their way in. Draco regrets that Jo and Em haven’t been allowed to attend beside their own appearances yet hopefully, the brief glimpse into the Wizarding World will be exciting enough. 

The room is one of the smaller ones, as far as Draco knows. On the opposite end of the door, there are ranks for the members of the court as well as a desk for the foreperson. In front of the rows for visitors Draco glimpses two tables. 

Sam leads Draco up front to the one on the right and Draco has a hard time looking anywhere but the floor for he knows who is sitting to his left at the other table. 

“Mr Winchester!” a female voice greets them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Mrs Hardman.” 

Draco risks a glance. Sam is shaking hands with a tall, dark woman with thick, long hair. Her white dress is flawless, her heels look deadly and she exudes an air of confidence that stops short of intimidating. 

This must be Jessica Hardman, the most experienced lawyer of HARC.

“Mr Malfoy,” she says smoothly and Draco nods at her. Behind the woman he spots more lawyers in formal robes, though none are as daring as Hardman’s dress. 

They introduce themselves to Sam with winning smiles and Draco’s stomach drops. Every single one of them is older than Sam and they all look incredibly sure of themselves. 

Deaton Avery is black and bald, his robes impeccably tailored and probably somewhere around 40. Belinda Ravensmith looks fierce and Draco is sure straight men would find her rather fit. Louis Cee is short and apparently easy-going yet Draco has seen enough smiles like his to know there is a shark lurking underneath. 

“I heard you lost your job at Milton’s,” Cee remarks. “Too bad. But didn’t you once apply with HARC?”

“I did,” Sam manages through gritted teeth. 

“Well, let’s see how this goes. If you don’t lose too spectacularly, maybe you can join our team after all.” Cee grins as if he didn’t notice how cold Sam’s demeanour has become. 

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Oh, Louis, don’t make the rookie offers. People might assume we were striking deals,” Hardman chides and Cee backs down. 

Now that all but Hardman are sitting, Draco’s eyes fall on the defendants. Seeing them again is like a curse to the stomach at first yet as he notices the little changes they have undergone, Draco’s mood is lifted slightly. 

Especially Allan Jones looks worse for wear after a few weeks in prison. The RCMF didn’t allow for bail, which means Draco’s tormentor will be stuck in prison until the RCMF reaches a verdict. Their hearing coincides with Draco’s, leading to two Allan-Jones-free days this week. Thank Merlin for small wonders. 

Aiden - no, Malcolm Gibbs, Draco corrects himself - is even skinnier than he remembers. There are circles underneath his eyes and he looks different; not as confident as Draco remembers. 

Brett Sterling seems eerily calm, which makes Draco’s skin crawl. Either he has resigned himself to his fate, or Vince knows he won’t be punished. Before Draco can decide which option is more likely, however, Vince turns his head and their eyes meet. 

Draco swallows and wills himself not to panic. 

Then, both Aiden and Stewart turn around as well, and Draco has to avert his eyes. Suddenly he feels cold although the room is pleasantly warm. 

A tingling sensation in his neck draws his attention behind him where he sees Harry sitting next to Lucifer in the second row. 

‘Are you all right?’ Harry mouths and Draco can but shrug. 

“Let’s take a seat,” Sam tells him then and Draco obeys gladly, nodding briefly in Harry’s direction. 

Sam takes out folders upon folders and spreads them out in front of him. 

“I do hope there’s a system behind this chaos,” Draco smirks, only half-jokingly. 

“Of course.” Sam raises an eyebrow. “Who do you take me for?”

“Well, opposing council seems to think you’re a rookie.”

“Don’t listen to them. It’s typical. They want to make us feel insecure but we won’t let them, you hear me? We’ve got this.”

Draco nods but his mouth is dry. Suddenly, the door behind them opens and when he turns to see who it is, his heart jumps a bit in his chest. His parents. They are actually here. 

He remembers the last time he saw his father very vividly and after his revelation that he is in fact gay and dating Harry Potter, Draco doubted he would see much of Lucius at all. His mother probably had something to do with this appearance.

Their eyes meet yet Lucius looks as he always does, his mask firmly in place, his eyes giving nothing away. But Narcissa spares him a smile. 

They take a seat somewhere in the back though their presence is enough to give Draco some confidence. It is strange the kind of feelings parents can elicit, even if one doesn’t have a close relationship with them anymore. 

“All rise!” a guard bellows from a door in the front and every guest does as instructed, watching the eleven members of the Wizard’s Court enter. 

As Sam explained, there are in fact more members to this juridical branch, yet they have so much work that they split up in smaller groups. The one responsible for sexual assault and domestic abuse is somewhat biased, Sam warned him. Eight women and three men – because the majority of plaintiffs is female. Yet when a case like Draco’s comes along, the ratio is unbalanced. 

“It’s not too bad, though,” Sam added. “Women can empathise with the victim better, as sexist as that might sound. I think we’re good.”

All Draco can think about, though, is how very happy he is that they didn’t have to elect a jury like in some movies he has seen. 

He watches a small, round woman with short, curly black hair that reminds Draco of Umbridge’s hair cut approach the desk in the middle of the room while her colleagues take their seat on Draco’s right. The rows of chairs are slightly raised so the members of the Court can oversee the entire room and Draco forces himself not to fidget under their gaze. 

“My name is Martha Jorkins,” the witch introduces herself, “and I have been elected to preside over the hearings pertaining to the case Malfoy vs. Jones, Gibbs and Sterling. Please take a seat.”

It takes a few moments until everything has quieted down before Mrs Jorkins can proceed and read the charges, after which she asks the defendants if their not guilty pleas have changed. All three assure her that they haven’t. 

Suddenly Draco realises from where he recognised the witch’s surname - she must be related to Bertha Jorkins from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Who was killed by the Dark Lord in 1994 and who probably doesn’t look kindly upon Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater. 

“Today we will hear the opening statements of both councils as well as the plaintiff’s testimony. Since Mr Malfoy’s testimony will be heard in the form of a memory, the Court will adjourn after the opening statements to review the evidence as was stated in our summoning. Since no motions to change this procedure have been filed, the Court will go ahead as planned.”

Draco breathes a sigh of relief. Sam said HARC might file a motion to force Draco to testify in person in front of the Court to undermine his confidence, yet the fact that they didn’t surely has relevance regarding their defence strategy. 

Before Draco can formulate a question for Sam, his lawyer is on his feet, stepping around their table to deliver his opening statement. 

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the Wizard’s Court and thank you for being here today. My name is Sam Winchester and I am Mr Malfoy’s legal council in this case,” Sam opens, his voice strong yet his body language casual. “We are here because a gruesome crime has been committed. My client has suffered through a traumatic experience. He was raped and tortured for three days, had his freedom of movement profoundly restricted. The defence will deny the three wizards on the stand today had anything to do with Mr Malfoy’s suffering and they will provide evidence.”

Sam pauses as his eyes seek contact with every member of the Court. “Don’t let their lies fool you, ladies and gentlemen of the Wizard’s Court. The defendants have brought four lawyers, who will undoubtedly dazzle you with their expertise, and hold up a self-assured front. Yet justice doesn’t care for those who can afford the best legal council. It doesn’t care for who is the most powerful person in this room. Justice cares for the truth and I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, my client and I won’t attempt to lie to you you for we have the truth on our side.”

Draco risks a glance at HARC who look as if they have not a care in the world. 

“There has been a lot of talk outside official channels, saying my client got what he deserves. I won’t deny Mr Malfoy’s past, for it has direct bearing on the events that led to this trial. Yet I also want to thank you, ladies and gentlemen, that as servants of the law you will be as blind as Justice is meant to be. Whatever personal feelings you have towards my client are your own and I know they won’t have any bearing on the outcome of this trial. For this and your attention, I thank you.”

Sam nods at Mrs Jorkins, who is wearing a peculiar expression, and resumes his seat next to Draco, sending him a brief smile. Draco has no idea how to feel now, although he thinks it was a good idea to remind everyone that justice is supposed to be blind to wealth and political prowess. 

Jessica Hardman rises from her chair and begins while Draco tenses. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizard’s Court – welcome. My name is Jessica Hardman and along with Deaton Avery, Belinda Ravensmith and Louis Cee, I represent the defendants Allan Jones, Malcolm Gibbs and Brett Sterling. As Mr Winchester has already elaborated, these three men are accused of sexual assault. While the fact that something terrible did indeed happen to Mr Malfoy seems irrefutable, my clients’ involvement is questionable and I will prove it to you. We will show that Mr Jones, Mr Gibbs and Mr Sterling have fallen victim to a terrible smear campaign. Mr Jones is a powerful man with as many enemies as friends, just as Mr Gibbs and Mr Sterling. They are all law-abiding wizards with no prior record. In the course of this trial my colleagues and I will prove that our clients have not done what they are accused of. As Mr Winchester said, Justice is blind and just like she is blind; she is fair and will not convict anyone without sufficient proof.”

Hardman’s eyes glide over the wizards and witches in front of her, pausing for effect before concluding her statement with a sincere-sounding “Thank you.”

Martha Jorkins takes over the desk again. “Now I ask Mr Draco Malfoy to the stand.”

Draco knows what is coming and the knowledge makes him relax. He still can’t look over to HARC and the three men so he keeps his eyes focused on Sam and Mrs Jorkins as he states his name, date of birth and brief personal history for her. 

Then the Court adjourns to watch Sam’s memory in an adjoining chamber together with the defence. 

“Do you want to go through the questions again?” Sam asks under his breath. 

Draco shakes his head. “I can recite them forwards and backwards.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Draco manages a small smile. 

“You looked very good up there,” Lucifer whispers from two rows behind them and when Draco follows Lucifer’s gaze, he realises he is talking to Sam. 

Draco sends Harry a knowing look and they proceed to communicate like this, Harry asking “How are you feeling?” with nothing more than a worried look and Draco assuring him of his well-being by a wink in combination with a twitch of his lips. 

It is only when he feels an uncomfortable prickling at the back of his neck that Draco glances across the aisle and catches Jessica Hardman looking at him with a pensive expression just before she disappears into the chambers with her team. 

The rest of the break passes with Draco wondering how outsiders perceive his interactions with Harry. Sam assured him before the start of the trial that even if it comes out that he and Harry are an item, it wouldn’t change much. Being the Boy Who Lived Again’s boyfriend might even tip the scales in Draco’s favour. Still, if their relationship becomes the talking point of this trial it will only be a matter of time before the newspapers catch up on it and that? That is something Draco would really rather live without. 

*

“Mr Malfoy, have you ever been confronted with a Polyjuiced person?”

Draco blinks at Jessica Hardman, wondering how it will fit into her defence. “Yes.”

“And on such an occasion, did you know the impersonated before encountering them?”

His mind flashes to Moody, whom he didn’t know before his fourth year, and then he remembers a day during his second year with a rather strange acting Crabbe and Goyle. Harry told him during the Christmas holidays that it was actually him and Ron posing as his friends.

“Yes.”

“Did you realise these person or persons weren’t who you thought they were?”

“I was twelve at the time and lacked the awareness I have today,” Draco says, attempting to sound confident, “so at that point, I didn’t realise it.”

“When did you realise it?”

“When the impostor told me.”

Hardman smiles. “If the Allan Jones you say was present that weekend in July were in fact another person using Polyjuice potion, would you, Mr Malfoy, have recognised the circumstances without having known Mr Jones prior to said weekend? The same pertains to Mr Gibbs and Mr Sterling, of course.”

Draco glances at Sam, whose nod is barely noticeable. 

“At first, I wouldn’t have. Yet I know that Polyjuice only lasts one hour so if my attackers had been using this potion, I would have noticed.”

Sam smirks at him. 

“Can you be sure of that?”

“Yes.”

“As has become evident in your testimony, Mr Malfoy, your memory is lacking. Also, due to the sexual assault inflicted on you, your attention was limited. I ask you again – can you say without the shadow of a doubt, that you would have noticed the use of this potion?”

Draco swallows. “Not beyond the shadow of a doubt, no.”

“No further questions, Mrs Jorkins,” Hardman concludes, having already grilled Draco on why he didn’t report the crime and why he kept the whip and notes he received hidden. 

Draco only releases the breath he is holding when he is down from the witness stand and back next to Sam. 

Thank Merlin this day is over. 

*

Dinner finds him, Harry, Sam and Lucifer in a Muggle restaurant – Harry’s treat. The mood is cautiously optimistic. 

“Their story, basically,” Sam explains, “is that enemies of Jones and his lackeys used the Polyjuice potion to impersonate and incriminate them while giving the real Jones an alibi.”

“What about when I arrested them?” Harry pitches in. 

Sam’s face darkens. “HARC will insist they have been imperiused.”

“Bollocks! I’ve seen people under the influence of the curse, I’m a bloody Auror and neither of them was affected!” Harry protests but Sam holds up a hand. 

“I know. But you still can’t prove it ‘beyond the shadow of a doubt’.” 

“Please, he’s the Boy Who Lived Again,” Lucifer objects. “When he says they weren’t imperiused, the majority of the Court will believe him.”

Sam still looks doubtful and Draco’s stomach churns unpleasantly. 

“How are you holding up?” he hears Harry ask from across the table. 

Draco shrugs eloquently, not sure of the honest answer himself and thankfully, his partner leaves it at that. 

The evening passes amiably, mostly because they start imagining how Jo and Emerson will act tomorrow when they appear in front of an actual magical court. 

The afternoon after that will see Lucifer on the stand and Draco notices how Sam’s eyes sparkle when the conversation turns to this topic. Before he can ask, though, Harry starts fussing over his appearance on Thursday and Sam spends all of desert reassuring him. 

After that, Sam excuses himself to the lavatory and Draco seizes his chance. A smirk on his face, he turns to Lucifer who is seated next to Harry. 

“So?”

Lucifer’s expression remains blank. “So, what? I thought I raised you better than to throw random and vague questions into the room.”

“So, are you and Sam finally shagging?”

Harry almost chokes on his drink while Lucifer merely smiles magnanimously. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m not sure what tipped me off first. Was it the smouldering looks or the heated eye-sex… Let me think…”

“Why are you so interested in my personal affairs, Draco?”

“Because I’d like to see you happy.”

Lucifer’s mouth clicks shut and remains that way for a long moment. 

“Well?”

“We’re not actually together so don’t get your knickers in a twist, Draco dear. So far it has all been physical. Gloriously physical, but physical nonetheless.”

Draco breaks into a beaming smile, his chest suddenly lighter than before. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Before Lucifer can reply, however, Sam returns and Draco pretends as if they had been talking about their weekend plans all this time. 

*

“What exactly is your function in the Muggle world, Mr Chandler?” Sam asks a slightly nervous Jo the following day. 

“I’m a Detective Inspector, which is, as I’ve been led to know, the non-magical equivalent of an Auror.”

“You live in London but you were in Southampton the first weekend of July 2002.”

“Correct. I had taken a holiday for personal reasons.”

“Can you explain what happened in the night of Sunday, seventh of July, in your own words?”

Draco listens avidly, interested in hearing Jo’s version of these few days that changed Draco’s life maybe more profoundly than the rape ever did. He remembers it vividly himself – his first contact with Muggle technology, Emerson’s visit, the panic attacks, his first ride in a car… 

“One last question, Mr Chandler. How were you aware that Draco Malfoy was a wizard?”

Jo clears his throat. “As a DI in London, you pick up on certain things. I sometimes have to deal with inexplicable murders, strange crime scenes, and every single time the Mystery Crime Unit appears and takes over, solving it without any problems. That was my first clue. Then I saw an MCU agent wave a wooden stick and make some sort of…” He pauses, looking for the right word. “Now I know the agent was determining the magical signature left on a piece of evidence. Back then, I witnessed magic and didn’t know for sure what it was yet I pieced it together over time.”

“And what about Mr Malfoy?”

“He just appeared out of nowhere. I heard a crack that night and this man was lying in my back yard. I know that wizards can just appear and disappear. That’s the only explanation for certain crime scenes with no sign of forced entry, doors and windows locked from the inside. However, I didn’t think about it too much since Draco was in need for medical attention, so I provided it.”

“Thank you. No further questions, Mrs Jorkins.”

With a final nod at Jo, Sam returns to Draco’s side while Deaton Avery approaches the witness. The cross examination goes smoothly; it might even serve to cast Draco in a better light since Jo explains in amused detail how Draco reacted to his new environment. The Court takes note that Jo recognised Chad and of his affiliation with Southampton but since Chad has already been sentenced, the information lacks impact. 

When Emerson takes the stand, he is notably thrumming with excitement yet manages to keep a rather good lid on it. Draco notices how some members of the Wizard’s Court wince as Em expands on Draco’s panic attack and that alone calms him down considerably. 

Draco has to bite back a laugh when Emerson relates his story of his and Jo’s kidnapping. One would assume it to be a traumatic experience for a Muggle yet Em describes the magic with wide eyes, clearly more impressed than intimidated. 

In the end, Draco isn’t sure whether this will help or hinder his case. 

*

By unspoken agreement, Lucifer and Sam keep their distance during the week except maybe to go over Lucifer’s appearance as witness one more time. Yet when they are finished and their eyes meet across the coffee table, Sam breaks the contact extremely early. 

“I should go,” he asserts. 

Lucifer pouts for only a moment before he smiles again and leads Sam to the door where he picks up his cloak. Sam wants to kiss the other man goodnight but have they reached this stage already? What are they anyway? 

“Until tomorrow,” Lucifer says with finality, so Sam leaves, unkissed, to his own apartment. 

Lucifer’s testimony is flawless. He and Sam run like a well-oiled machine and when Ravensmith insinuates a relationship between Lucifer and Draco, Sam says “Objection!” before Lucifer can even glance at him. 

“The current sexual activities of both the witness and the plaintiff are irrelevant to the charges at hand.”

Mrs Jorkins narrows her eyes. “Denied.”

Sam schools his features and barely manages to keep himself from grumbling. He feared as much. 

Meanwhile, Lucifer smiles generously at Ravensmith. “I never was nor will I ever be sexually involved with Draco Malfoy. I may have a reputation but taking advantage of my subordinate who is going through a difficult time crosses a line even for me.”

Ravensmith apparently didn’t expect such a blunt answer and changes the subject again, but aside from that one provocative question, the afternoon passes uneventful. 

That alone should have filled Sam with a sense of foreboding yet by Thursday night, he is way too tired to think about what could possibly go wrong with The Boy Who Lived Again. 

Apparently, a lot. 

*

“Did you recognise the signs of being under the influence of the Imperius curse with Mr Jones, Mr Gibbs or Mr Sterling?” Sam asks evenly. 

“No.”

“Do you think you’re qualified to make such an assessment?”

“I have been seen several imperiused people in my time as an Auror and before that during the war, so yes. I’m qualified.”

“Thank you, Harry. No further questions.”

*

Jessica Harman’s smile turns malicious once Harry has finished answering her questions about Lucifer alerting the Aurors to Jo’s and Emerson’s kidnapping. Harry swallows, his heart beating stronger against his chest. 

“If I am correct, Mr Potter,” the lawyer continues, “you are currently suspended from active duty.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What is the reason behind this suspension, Mr Potter?”

Harry pauses briefly, trying to remember exactly how Sam told him to phrase it. “Once every suspect was disarmed, I became physically aggressive towards Mr Jones. I broke his nose in the process.”

“And almost broke my jaw,” Jones mutters from his place at the defendant table, just loud enough for everyone to catch it. Harry sees Draco flinch at hearing his voice out of the corner of his eye and wishes he could go over and pull his partner tight. 

Harry ignores Jones, fixing his eyes on Hardman instead. 

“Why?” she asks, a glint in her eye suggesting she has a perfectly clear idea what the real answer would look like. 

“Personal reasons,” Harry states. 

“Of course,” the woman concedes. “Mr Jones was a subject in several cases of theft. However, I can’t help but wonder if something like this would prove enough to enrage Harry Potter to the extent of him becoming physically violent.”

 _That tosser_ , Harry curses mentally, realising what exactly Jessica Hardman is up to – trying to back him into a corner. 

“Was this the reason behind your assault?”

“No.”

“Please explain then, Mr Potter. Why were you so angry?”

Harry glances at Sam, who nods minutely. “I knew what Allan Jones did to Draco before I came to Mr Chandler’s apartment. I figured out why Draco is in therapy and he confirmed it. So I knew everything.”

Hardman pauses, a smile tugging at her lips, and Harry braces himself. “How close is your relationship to the plaintiff?”

“Objection!” Sam predictably intervenes. “Irrelevant to the case –“

“This information is highly relevant to Mr Potter’s state of mind which in turn affects his testimony regarding the mental status of the defendants,” Hardman replies, quick like a shot, almost too fast for Harry to follow. 

Jorkins’ eyes move back and forth between them until she sighs, “Overruled. Mr Potter, answer the question.”

“We’re close,” Harry admits, doubting he will be let off the hook this easily. 

“How close?”

“What is your definition of ‘close’, ma’am?” Harry snaps back, belatedly adding the honorific. 

“Let me rephrase my question.” Hardman smirks up at where Harry is sitting. “Are you good friends or lovers?”

Several people in the courtroom gasp, including a few members of the Wizards’ Court. Harry remains silent. 

“How close, Mr Potter?” the lawyer insists and even Mrs Jorkins shots him an expectant look. 

After conferring with Sam who only gives him a resigned shrug in return, Harry takes a deep breath, his eyes seeking Draco’s. “Draco and I have been romantically involved for a bit over two months.”

Draco smiles at him, even if it is a tad strained but Harry can’t fault him for it. Now that their relationship is out in court, it will only be a matter of time before Skeeter picks up on it. If that sodding black beetle isn’t hiding in this very room as they speak. 

Once everything has quieted down again, Jessica Hardman addresses the members of the Court as well as Harry. “So, to summarise, Mr Potter: Personal reasons in this instance mean that you were furious with Allan Jones since your lover told you what Mr Jones _allegedly_ did, thus prompting you to lose control and physically hurt the defendant.”

“Yes,” Harry grits out.

“Mrs Jenkins, ladies and gentlemen of the Wizards’ Court. In light of these developments, I must emphasise how subjective Mr Potter’s impression of the situation was. A lover seeking revenge for the wrongs inflicted on his partner cannot judge objectively who is a victim of the Imperius Curse and who is not. Thus, Mr Potter’s statement cannot be taken at face value.”

Jessica Hardman turns around to grin at Harry and then raises a boasting eyebrow at Sam before concluding with, “No further questions for the witness.”

Harry heaves a sigh and buries his face in his hands. This was absolutely not the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little warning – I’m going to officially switch to a bi-weekly schedule for the next three chapters or so. I have to write two essays for uni and I’ll always pick fanfiction over that otherwise. Also, I have hosted a giveaway on my Tumblr and every winner got a prompt fill from me, so I’m currently writing on those as well (two of the three are Johnlock, the other Destiel so keep an eye open). 
> 
> Also, I’ve added a chapter count! I think 15 chapters is a good goal; it might increase, though. I have no idea when my characters will be finished telling their story.
> 
> PS: I can't stress this enough - I should be writing essays for uni and not fanfiction. So if the next update takes longer than two weeks, I already apologise profusely!!!
> 
> EDIT 28-03-2014: Yes, chapter 10 will take longer than two weeks... I'm sorry. My Muse has a lot of strange mood swings when I'm forcing her to write academically. Thanks for your patience!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news of Harry and Draco’s relationship are revealed. Sam makes a hard decision, whose outcome may break or secure their trial after Draco’s memory of Saturday night returns full force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry. I got caught up in essay writing; then my Muse decided to return to my A/B/O Johnlock slavery AU (which has been waiting for an update for ages) and I’m also working on three major other stories when inspirations strikes (two Harry/Draco, one Destiel (yay!)). 
> 
> I could have rushed chapter 10, but I want this story to continue on a good level, so I didn’t rush it. Thanks for understanding :)
> 
>  **Warning:** Graphic flashback later on in this scene, highlighted through _italics_.

_HARRY POTTER – GAY FOR MALFOY_  
 _By Rita Skeeter_

_Yes, dear readers. Harry Potter, hero of the Wizarding World, Vanquisher of the Dark Lord, is romantically involved with Draco Malfoy. Has been, in fact, for two months now as an anonymous source told the Prophet in the wake of yesterday’s trial._

_According to our source, who was present at the trial, Harry Potter admitted to the relationship after being pestered as to his reasons for assaulting Allan Jones – an act that led to a four-week suspension from the Auror Squad._

_This news will put any rumours to rest concerning the affair Mr Malfoy was supposedly having with his boss, Lucifer Milton. It also explains why Mr Potter has never been seen with a girlfriend and why Mr Potter was so quick to the rescue at the end of January, when Allan Jones and his three accomplices allegedly kidnapped and tortured two Muggle friends of Malfoy’s in order to draw the former Death Eater out._

_While the story of the assault on Draco Malfoy is brutal and dire, this romance is not. A war hero and his former nemesis meet again after years apart, both scarred by life, and find reverie in each other. As our source explains, Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy met at their psychiatrist’s office – the same Dr Matsakins who will testify today. Maybe she will shed some light on this controversial love story, for neither Mr Potter nor Mr Malfoy are expected to comment on this revelation._

_We await today’s hearing with bated breath._

*

Draco scowls at the paper. As much as he despises Skeeter, she got one thing right – Harry and he do find reprieve in each other. Last night, they curled up on the sofa together and will probably do so again tonight. 

Draco wills the weekend to arrive faster, but he still has to live through today’s hearing. Listening to his psychiatrist talk about him in front of a jury is not a thing he looks forward to. 

*

Sam relishes the empty court room, cleared for Matsakins’ testimony. She already has to disband the doctor-client confidentiality for the sake of this trial and thankfully, Sam’s motion to turn this into a closed hearing was granted. 

There are no gasps from the audience today when Aphrodite describes the nature and extent of Draco’s PTSD, no amused snorts when she explains about triggers (the red trigger that turned one of Allan Jones’ red shirts into a piece of evidence), flashbacks, dissociation. 

HARC barely have any questions – Sam didn’t expect anything else. HARC’s line of defence isn’t based on negating the rape, thus calling Draco’s mental health (or lack thereof) in question would only have delayed the trial.

Sam is glad for the early finish. He says his good-byes to Draco, Harry and Lucifer and rushes out, eager to return to his apartment where he buries himself in trial reports, precedents and court rulings. 

The sun has set when a silver fox appears. Sam is on his feet and out of his flat in under two minutes. 

*

It is late when Sam returns, a slight spring in his step even though he feels exhausted. He runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes as he blindly walks into his kitchen to get some water. 

That’s when he notices the light in the living room. 

His wand is out in a split-second, raised in front of him as he approaches the source of the light but the only thing to do when he sees the reason behind all this, is groan. 

“Lucifer, how the fuck did you get in here?”

The man smirks from where he is lounging on the sofa. “I am a man of many skills, Sammy.”

The nickname hurts unexpectedly, reminding him that his brother is still on a wild goose-chase in America with one of Lucifer’s lackeys. Instead of complaining, however, Sam glares. 

“Your bitch face is adorable.”

“What do you want?” Sam snarls, angry with himself because already he can feel the arousal building in his gut. He doesn’t have time for this, not now, not after the proof he obtained.

Lucifer, of course, catches on immediately. “I was going to ask ‘where have you been’, but the more pressing questions seems to be ‘What have you found out’?”

“Too soon to tell,” he grits out and hopes it will be the end of it, yet all it achieves is that Lucifer rises from the couch, granting Sam an unhindered view of him in well-fitting Muggle clothes. They still look expensive, hug his body exquisitely… 

Sam shakes his head. He has things to do and only a weekend to – 

His thoughts grind to a halt when he feels the heat of Lucifer’s body in front of him. He opens his eyes without remembering when he closed them to find the man’s face inches from his own. 

“Why don’t I help you brainstorm?” Lucifer breathes against his lips. 

“I have work to do.” He tries to sound authoritative, but it comes out as weak. His eyes latch onto Lucifer’s neck and travel down to the bit of collarbone his shirt leaves exposed. 

“You’ve been all work and no play this entire week,” Lucifer whispers, his voice low. “It’s rather boring after a few days.”

“Just because you’re sexually frustrated –“

“I’m not the one whose pupils are dilated, Sam.”

The remark makes him glance up because surely, Lucifer is as aroused as he is. When their eyes meet, though, Lucifer’s are black and way too close. A shiver runs through Sam’s body. 

“Tell me where you’ve been. I can already guess what you’re trying to do given the parchments scattered around your living room…” Lucifer trails off and leans forward, nosing the juncture where Sam’s neck meets his shoulder, lips ghosting over the skin but not quite touching. 

“I met with someone.”

Lucifer bites down and Sam’s hips jerk. 

“A private investigator.”

“Looking into the woman Jones will put on the stand.”

It isn’t a question and Sam doesn’t treat it like one. Coherent thought is beginning to escape him when he feels Lucifer’s tongue on his skin, soothing the patch his teeth abused just moments ago. 

“What did he find out?” Sam barely catches it; Lucifer’s voice is muffled against his skin. 

“She’s a prostitute.”

Lucifer stills before drawing back to meet Sam’s eyes. His own are still dark as night and his brows furrow, yet not for long. Sam recognises the exact moment Lucifer connects the dots. He has always been a smart man. 

“Ah,” he gasps softly, his eyes returning to their natural colour. “Then what’s all this trouble about? She’s a slag, no one will trust a word she says.”

“Not when HARC present her as someone who doesn’t sell herself for money.”

“Then we –“

“Accuse her, sure, but all the research I’ve been doing makes it clear that simply accusing her won’t cut it. Slander never works.”

Sam steps away from Lucifer, out of reach, and grabs one of the trial reports. 

“Wesson Vs. Smith, opposing council accused the plaintiff of prostitution, the Wizard Court didn’t let it sway them. The only times this works is when there is proof.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “The private investigator.”

Sam nods. “I need to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that Charlotte Evergreen trades sex for money; if Jorkins and the jury don’t believe that, everything else is futile.”

“And your solution is to research every case featuring prostitutes and the use of Veritaserum on witnesses that’s ever been recorded?”

“I’m doing my job.”

Suddenly, Lucifer’s expression morphs. The sceptical look is gone, replaced with a predatory leer. 

“You deserve a break, Sammy, and I know just the way to spend it.”

“Lucifer –“

“Tell me you don’t want to. Tell me to stop and I will,” the man dares him as he is sinking to his knees. Sam’s throat is very dry all of a sudden. “I mean it.” 

Before Sam can reply, Lucifer traces the outline of his half-hard cock through the fabric of his pants and Sam’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Lucifer purrs, obviously pleased with the reaction he elicited. 

Sam has barely begun to shake his head before Lucifer works open his button and zipper with deft hands, pulling the pants down just far enough to expose his growing erection. 

He watches, transfixed, as Lucifer looks up at him from the floor and makes his eyes turn black once more, then laves at the head of his cock. 

It’s wrong on so many levels, but those eyes set him on fire; the mere thought of Lucifer sucking him off while his eyes are black make Sam’s erection twitch against Lucifer’s tongue and he can feel the man chuckle around his length. 

Lucifer takes his time, teases the glans until Sam’s knees are unsteady, until he is moments away from gripping Lucifer’ hair and simply taking what is offered and the only thing that prevents him from fucking that mouth is a finger trailing a path from where it has been massaging his balls back to his perineum. 

Sam gasps in shock but doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t bottom often – hasn’t in a long time – but Lucifer has always pushed him to surpass his limits; why should sex with him be any different? 

Lucifer grows bolder once he realises that Sam won’t stop him any time soon. He circles the tight ring of muscle gently before bringing his hand to his face and slipping it in next to Sam’s cock which is currently a hair breadth away from hitting the back of Lucifer’s throat. 

He saliva slick finger enters him and Sam clenches around the intrusion, making Lucifer groan appreciatively around his erection. 

From one moment to the next, however, the finger is gone and Lucifer is on his feet, pushing Sam back and turning him around before Sam’s arousal-addled brain can process what is happening. 

He lands on the sofa, stomach down, and Lucifer blankets his body with his own, trailing kisses and bites down his back. When Lucifer reaches the small of his back, Sam feels a tongue lick down his spine and delve into the cleft of his ass. 

“Fuck,” he moans, body shuddering in anticipation. It’s been a long, long time since anyone has ever done this to him. 

He feels Lucifer smile against his cheek, hands already palming his ass. 

“I will lick my way inside you, Sammy, and then I’ll fuck you into these cushions. How about that?”

All Sam can do in reply is give a strangled moan, gripping the upholstery tightly. 

Lucifer spreads his cheeks, exposing him. Just the thought of Lucifer, eyes dark or even black, gazing at his opening, sends a spark of pleasure right into Sam’s groin. He feels the wet tongue against his skin, massaging the muscles until they are lose enough for Lucifer to slip right in. 

It’s fast, hard, dirty and incredibly hot and within minutes, Lucifer has Sam rutting back, fucking himself on his tongue and crying out when Lucifer inserts a finger and finds Sam’s prostate with eerie precision. 

The tongue withdraws and the finger stays, but it’s not enough. Sam whimpers and he knows he sounds pathetic, though he is too gone to care. 

“Do you want to come like this, Sammy, with my tongue in your arse?” Lucifer’s breath is hot against Sam’s ear. “Or do you want my cock?”

Fuck, how can that man still be so articulate… Sam swallows, panting against a cushion. “You promised to fuck me.”

He doesn’t need to crane his neck in order to see Lucifer’s smirk. A second later, the finger is gone yet before Sam can complain, he feels a slickness inside of him. Lubrication charm. 

“In a rush, are we?” he teases and Lucifer’s hands still on his hips. 

“Oh, you want me to make you beg, Sammy?”

Shit. That backfired. 

“I could do this all night; eat you out until you’re trembling on the edge, just shy of release but it’s just this much out of reach…” 

“Shut up and fuck me, Lucifer,” he growls, turning his torso so he can glare at the man. His eyes are drawn to the movement and slide across Sam’s chest and stomach. Sam shifts a little, fully aware of how his muscles will contract underneath his skin. 

Lucifer stares, transfixed, yet only for a moment. “Bloody bastard,” he snaps but there’s hardly any bite behind it. 

Then Lucifer’s hand is on his shoulder, turning him around, pushing him down into the sofa with inhuman strength. Sam tries to struggle but the grip is too tight and Sam realises that he could not escape the position even if he wanted to. 

He doesn’t; but that’s not the point. He is pinned into place, unable to get away for the first time in his life and as much as he loves being the one who does the holding down, being on the other end is… just incredibly erotic in its own right. 

The feeling of Lucifer’s cock pushing against his entrance interrupts his thoughts and Sam forces his muscles to relax. His body accepts Lucifer without problems. The man moans against Sam’s shoulder once he is fully sheathed, taking a moment before starting to move. 

Lucifer keeps his promise – he all but fucks Sam into the cushions, who does his best to hold on to an inch of control but it’s in vain, his body has other plans and his mind has gone offline for the unforeseeable future. 

His breathing is ragged, he feels sweat on his back while one of Lucifer’s hands is gripping his hip and the other ensures he stays in place. His erection rubs against the fabric of the sofa with every thrust and it’s delicious and nowhere near enough. Sam yearns to touch himself but he can’t loosen his grip or Lucifer’s next thrust will push him off the furniture. 

“Don’t, Sammy,” Lucifer orders as if he read his mind. “You’ll come untouched.”

And of course he does. Lucifer adjusts his angle until he hits Sam’s prostate every single time. Within minutes, Sam feels the heat building up and his balls tighten and when Lucifer growls “Come for me” into his ear, Sam topples over the edge, convulsing around Lucifer’s cock. 

Sam hasn’t even come down from his high when he feels Lucifer still and spill himself with a guttural moan, collapsing onto Sam. There is a wet spot on the couch now; both he and Lucifer are sweaty. It should be uncomfortable and disgusting yet it isn’t. 

They both know they have to shower soon or they will be stuck together for the rest of the night but just for a little while, Sam closes his eyes and just enjoys the post-orgasmic haze with Lucifer pressed against his back. 

*

Draco tosses and turns again, huddling the blankets tighter around him but it is no use. He will only shift again; unable to find a position he can relax in. Next to him, Harry is breathing evenly, clearly asleep, yet Draco can’t seem to find reprieve. 

He can’t explain his restlessness – he has two trial free days ahead of him and even though the prophet will be running the story of Harry’s and his relationship for a while, it’s not as if Draco has many outings the reporter attention would hinder. Aphrodite’s statement brought nothing to light he didn’t already know, though admittedly, being reminded of his innumerable panic attacks was unpleasant. 

Frustrated, Draco abandons sleep and moves to the living room after brewing tea. He lights the fire wandlessly and tries to read, only to find he has to re-read pages because he can’t concentrate. 

Something is crawling underneath his skin and wants out but Draco can’t for the life of him find out what. 

Except…

It is risky, yes, but Draco needs to take action. He settles back against the cushions and closes his eyes, mentally going through what happened all these months ago, recalling what happened and when, and still seeing the big black holes that are Sunday morning and evening. 

Something is tugging on his mind, if he could just get to it. 

*

Sam blinks awake slowly. His body is stiff, sticky and – is he on the sofa? He sits up in a rush, looking around in confusion. 

“Sleeping beauty wakes,” a voice sounds from the kitchen doorway and shortly after, Lucifer places a mug of coffee in front of him. “I take it this is the part where you send me on my wicked ways so you can go back to work,” he teases. 

Sam looks up, unprepared for Lucifer’s still damp hair. He was in Sam’s shower… Before the thought can derail him any further, he glances at the clock. 

“Fuck.” He slept for three hours.

Lucifer, already at the door, winks coyly at him. “I’ll return to make sure you get a break, Sammy.” 

Before Sam’s brain is sufficiently awake, the door closes behind the man, leaving Sam alone with his coffee. He takes a sip – and sits back in surprise. Did Lucifer actually remember that Sam likes his coffee with a dash of milk and nothing more? 

Filing the question away for a point in time when he doesn’t have to compile an incontestable motion for the use of Veritaserum, Sam sets the mug down and resumes his research. 

*

_A leash. Pain. Blood on the sheets._

Memory flashes tear through Draco’s haze, which is halfway between wakefulness and sleep. 

His pulse spikes when he realises what he just remembered – it must be new, the recollections are unfamiliar, foreign almost. 

_Vince above him, pressing him into the hardwood floor with his body and a knife at his throat._

_Aiden pulling his hair back as he rams into him without much preparation._

_Draco, magical ropes wound tightly around every extremity, completely preventing any movement, watching as Vince straddles his hips, trailing the knife along his sides._

_Aiden has his feet fastened to a steel pole that keeps his legs apart as he stands. His hands have suffered the same fate, forced to spread by a second pole, which is suspended high over his head._

_The worst are the clamps on his nipples – they are too tight and the chain that connects them is heavy, exerting pressure even without him moving._

_“I could spend all my Sunday mornings like this,” Aiden murmurs in Draco’s ear, pressing against his back. The man is naked, his erection rubbing against Draco’s arse._

_They are in the living room that has been cleared of furniture, save the chair Vince is currently occupying. His eyes are lidded as he strokes his erection lazily, eyes fixed on the blood still covering Draco’s sides. The wounds are gone, magicked away, probably because Stewart didn’t allow it, but there are still red smears standing out starkly against Draco’s pale skin._

_Aiden sneaks a hand around Draco’s torso and wraps it around his cock, kept erect by a penis ring once more. The friction feels good, and two days ago or even yesterday, Draco would have despised himself for enjoying this but he is too exhausted, too hungry, too tired of fighting._

_So he lets Aiden toss him off long enough to feel the orgasm approaching. Draco knows, however, that he won’t get to come; hasn’t been allowed all morning._

_The tug on the nipple chain is sudden and unexpected and sends a spark of pain through Draco’s body but even that doesn’t stave off his arousal, not after two days of growing accustomed to pain._

_Aiden groans thickly into his ear, pulling Draco’s cheeks apart and aligning himself. He grits his teeth – Aiden doesn’t like lube, neither the Muggle sort nor the spell, a realisation that Draco woke up with today when Aiden just shoved inside of him._

_The only difference now is that it is more painful – Draco can’t adjust his body, he is held in place by the poles and Aiden’s grip on the nipple chain never loosens. The louder Draco screams, the more brutal Aiden thrusts into him and Draco is torn between wanting it to be over sooner or reducing the pain._

_“Cut him again,” Aiden pants, his eyes on Vince who jumps at the chance and retrieves his knife – a different one, not the one that leaves permanent damage._

_This time, Vince runs it from Draco’s sternum to his navel, deep enough to make the wound bleed but nothing life-threatening. Draco presses his eyes closed, tears escaping beneath the lids._

_The pain is too much – in his arse, his legs, his hands, his nipples, the cuts Vince keeps adding, the hand in his hair. He loses track of time, might even have blacked out; he only recalls flashes before he blinks to consciousness at the sound of the door opening._

_The smell of Chinese takeout fills his nose before he glimpses Stewart and Chad, malicious smiles on their faces._

_“Did you keep him busy?” Stewart sneers._

_“All morning,” Vince says._

_Footsteps echo through the hallway until Stewart looms above him. “Your holiday is over, gorgeous. All four of us are here again.” He pats Draco’s head. “Relax a bit, gorgeous, gather your strength. You’ll need it.”_

_Then he turns around and leaves Draco lying on the floor, aching all over but without scars._

*

Harry finds Draco, panting and trembling, on the sofa after he wakes up in bed alone.

In an instant, he is kneeling beside Draco, forcing his gestures to be gentle as he tries to catch Draco’s attention. He covers Draco’s hand that is gripping the blanket with one of his own and is surprised when grey eyes snap towards him immediately.

Harry almost wishes Draco wouldn’t look at him. His eyes are wide, filled with terror and Harry can’t imagine the nightmare he must have had. Harry spreads his arms slowly, conveying his intentions and before he can even close the distance and hug Draco, the blond has done it for him, clinging to him tightly. 

Harry rubs circles into Draco’s back that he hopes are soothing, holds him until the last sobs have abated and Draco’s breathing is less ragged. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispers softly, brushing a strand of blond hair out of Draco’s face. 

“I need to.” It comes out hoarse. “I remembered.”

Harry feels his blood run cold. “What?”

“Sunday – it’s important; Sam needs to know.”

“I’ll send for him. Lucifer as well?”

Draco shrugs. It isn’t a no, so Harry sends his stag to both the lawyer and the accountant and spends the wait brewing tea. 

* 

“What you’re saying is that both Stewart an Chad left your flat Sunday morning.” Sam seems undecided whether smiling is an acceptable response to the current situation. Harry can’t blame him for being a little happy. This might be the ace up their sleeve they desperately needed. 

“I’m positive. Aiden said it was Sunday morning when he…” Draco swallows. “But I blacked out the night before; they might have left late Saturday evening.”

“That’s great news –“ When three pairs of eyes snap towards Sam, he back paddles quickly. “Not that you blacked out, but that we know they left the apartment. Would explain why Allan Jones will be insisting he spent Saturday night with Charlotte Evergreen.”

“And might not even be lying through his teeth when he says it,” Lucifer adds. 

“But can we enter this as evidence?” Harry asks. “The trial’s already begun.”

To his relief, Sam nods. “I’ll send an express owl to Mrs Jorkins; Draco will testify before we put Jones on the stand.”

Harry watches Draco’s reaction – the prospect of facing his tormentors again makes him shudder; Harry can’t imagine how his partner must be feeling right now after recalling events his subconscious had suppressed for so long. 

“Do you need anything?” Lucifer asks from his position in the armchair. “After yesterday’s headline I wouldn’t be surprised if there were photographers everywhere you’re known to go. I can procure groceries?”

It takes Harry a moment to realise Lucifer is talking to both Draco and him. 

“You’re going to get groceries?” Sam looks like he has an easier time imagining Kingsley Shacklebolt kissing a Grindylow. 

“I have a house-elf for such tasks,” Lucifer explains with an arrogant smirk. 

“You don’t need to go to any trouble –“ Harry tries but the other man talks over him.

“It’s no trouble; the creature is unchallenged as it is. I will bring them by, so you don’t have to grant her access into the Fidelius.” 

Draco doesn’t smile at Lucifer, though his eyes are softer than before. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be off, let you two get some rest,” Lucifer concludes, nodding at Sam. “Walk you out?”

Sam blinks up at the accountant, who is already standing. “Fine.” He returns his attention to Draco. “I’ll drop by as soon as I know what Jorkins says. If you need anything before that, just tell me.”

He waits for Draco to nod before he follows Lucifer out of the flat. Harry wonders if they are the kind of couple who kiss good-bye once they are outside, yet somehow he doubts it. 

He spends the rest of the morning on the sofa with Draco, watching some telly to distract themselves, until Draco has to go to his appointment with Aphrodite and Harry follows after him. 

Harry knows all he is talking about during his sessions is Draco and when she presses him, he at least admits to having too much energy and he doesn’t want to leave Draco alone for too long so his work-out time suffers. 

“But Lucifer said they will start preparing for the launch of their firm right after the trial; I’ll still have enough time to get ready for my return to the Auror squad,” Harry placates Aphrodite when she raises a worried eyebrow. 

Frankly, their hour can’t end soon enough. While their sessions used to help Harry a bit before, ever since the start of the trial, Harry just doesn’t have the mind for it. Draco is the one who is important now. Harry’s problems take the back seat until this has blown over. 

*

Sam spends his Saturday at Wizard’s Court. While there are no hearings, Mrs Jorkins is at least in her office and he can hand over the motion for hearing the new evidence on Monday personally. 

“Your client’s timing is impeccable,” she says once she skimmed the parchment. 

“He’s been trying to remember ever since we started preparing, Mrs Jorkins. But according to his shrink, you can’t rush something like this.”

“Will Dr Matsakins be willing to testify again? I take it Mr Malfoy will have consulted her in the aftermath of such a,” she hesitates, probably looking for an adequate adjective, “such a traumatic flashback.”

“I’m sure. I’ll subpoena her today so she will be able to clear her schedule.”

She focuses him with a stern gaze and Sam schools his features into the best cross between professional and puppy-dog eyes he can muster (a talent that used to be very helpful with the female population of Triple M whenever Sam needed a favour). 

He sees the exact moment he wins her over and has to keep himself from reacting too visibly when she sighs and signs the motion. 

“Granted.” 

“Thank you, Mrs Jorkins.”

From there, it is back to Draco to tell him the good news, then to his apartment to develop a line of questioning he will coach Draco on tomorrow, but only after sending Aphrodite another subpoena with a friendly note. 

He is so immersed in work that he doesn’t even hear the knock on the door. 

*

Groaning inwardly, Lucifer knocks again but still no answer. 

_Perhaps Sam’s body finally claimed its right to sleep_ , he wonders as he produces his wand, sets down the takeout containers and goes to work on breaking the wards without setting of any counter-measures. 

It makes for a rather awkward moment when, upon entering the flat, Lucifer finds Sam glancing up from his usual mountain of paperwork in the living room. 

“I brought food,” he explains, holding up the boxes. “I’m sure you forgot to eat all day.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “Why are you so nice all of a sudden?”

“Oh, I had a spectacular shag last night. Does wonders for your mood. You should try it some time.” That at least elicits a chuckle from the other man. “You want to get the plates or do I have permission to snoop around in your kitchen?”

“I have to finish this; do whatever you want.” 

Lucifer can’t keep the frown from his face, yet Sam doesn’t notice, attention already returned to the parchment he is filling out. 

Sam has always been dedicated to the work; there were weeks at Triple M neither of them got much sleep and back then, Lucifer didn’t mind. It was part of the job. Now, however, he worries a bit. Finds himself researching how many weeks a man can live on three hours of sleep before breaking down – and wonders what changed between back then and now. 

He opens the drawers he would put the dishes in and finds mugs. Where the mugs would be if Lucifer were the one to have placed them in the cupboards, there are glasses, and where the pans should be in Lucifer’s world, that’s where he finally unveils the plates. 

At least the cutlery is where every sane person would put it. 

By the time Lucifer has the food distributed and fished out forks and spoons, Sam appears in the kitchen, remaining on the other side of the kitchen island where Lucifer set up their meal. 

“Something to drink?” Sam asks warily.

“Do you have any beer?”

The “duh” is written all over his face. After meeting Sam’s brother, Lucifer should have known. 

It is still awkward when they both sit down. Sam grabs his fork but pauses when he takes up the spoon. “Didn’t you see the knives?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “This is Thai. You eat Thai with forks and spoons.”

“In Thailand. We’re in London.” 

“I had the impression your motor skills were eclectic, Sammy,” he shots back, letting his voice drop slightly lower, filling it with insinuation.

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t get up to fetch a knife. They eat in awkward silence and after they are finished, Sam flicks his wrist, spelling the plates clean and sending them back to their cupboards with the empty containers fly into the garbage. 

At least Sam isn’t exhausted enough to fail at wandless magic. 

“Should I even bother asking you to leave or are you just gonna play dirty again?” Sam sounds weary and slightly annoyed. 

“I’d never do anything to you that you don’t want me to.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Lucifer hesitates briefly but this action alone derails him a bit. Why should he hesitate? He is horny and Sam won’t decline. Still, something in Sam’s tone makes him uncomfortable. 

“Tell me to go and I will,” he says eventually and it is clear Sammy didn’t expect such a sincere answer. 

“Then go. Thanks for dinner, but I have work to do.”

He sounds sceptical, as if he doesn’t trust Lucifer. He is smart not to, yet in this case, he doesn’t need to worry. Lucifer won’t shag a bloke who is reluctant. He wants Sam’s full attention, not be a distraction. Let the man work himself to death if he wants to. 

Lucifer nods tersely, keeping his features blank as he exits the kitchen and leaves the flat, not once turning around, not stopping in case Sam changed his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. I had porn planned for the end of the chapter, guys! Why aren’t you playing along, dear characters? (internal conversation with fictional characters are always fun and frustrating)
> 
> Let me know your thoughts; I live on air and comments :)
> 
> I’m already a little into chapter 11, so the next update might even be happening next week! Chapter 11 will also see the end of the trial, presumably.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trail, until the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m rather proud of this chapter :) It's unusually long, there’s porn, plot, a possible overuse of the word ‘objection’, Sam being a BAMF, Harry being Harry… I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Draco’s voice waivers. 

He can’t help it, not when he is retelling the flashback from Saturday night to the entire committee. At least the hearing has been closed to the public, or else there would be even more people in this room, eyes fixed on him, sitting on the stand. 

Belinda Ravensmith rises for the cross-examination after Sam resumes his seat.

“Your memory has impeccable timing,” she sneers but it is nothing more than what Draco was told to expect. He survives her questions and even thinks most of the Wizengamot believe his recollections are genuine.

After recess, Allan Jones takes the witness stand. Draco forces himself to look at the man even though his hands are shaking and his stomach is turning in on itself. 

He won’t give Jones the satisfaction. That monster has caused enough damage to his life. 

*

“Isn’t it strange that Mr Malfoy remembers you being away from the crime scene exactly when someone can provide you with an alibi, Mr Jones?”

Sam oozes confidence, much to Draco’s astonishment.

“Well, I try to spend every Saturday night with Charlotte – whoever framed me knew me well enough to integrate this information into their scheme.”

Jones is smiling as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. As if he is positive that he will walk free. 

Draco swallows hard around the lump that is suddenly in his throat. 

*

“Mr Gibbs,” Sam opens the cross examination on Tuesday. “According to your statement, you spent the weekend in question with your sister, who is currently in Jerusalem, leading an archaeology expedition to recover magical artefacts and has already been on that same expedition in July. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Gibbs’ eyes have a joyous glint in them that seems to taunt Sam but he didn’t spend the past weeks on three hours sleep per night and energising potions to let Gibbs’ testimony survive this day. 

“Would you say you and your sister are close?”

“Of course. We’re twins.”

“Did you get in trouble as children?”

“Objection!” Louis Cee bellows immediately, just like Sam anticipated. 

“Granted,” Mrs Jorkins rules, also like Sam thought she would. 

“Let me rephrase: Are you so close that you would lie for one another?”

“Objection! Misleading!”

“Mr Winchester, if you have a point to make, just make it,” the witch tells him and Sam raises his hands in surrender, looking up at her innocently. 

“My apologies. I withdraw the question.”

Dramatically slow, he returns to his desk from where Draco is watching him with wide eyes, clearly sceptical. Undeterred, Sam takes three sealed rolls of parchment from the pile of files. 

“If your sister, Mr Gibbs, was with you from Friday through Sunday evening on said weekend, how come I have three testimonies from local residents of the village of Hujayla who swore to a notary that they had contact with Mrs Janice Gibbs on both Saturday as well as Sunday?”

Malcolm Gibbs’ blanches, starring at the parchments. From the corner of his eye, Sam sees Mrs Jorkins extend a hand and he turns the documents over. 

“I’d like to enter these testimonies as evidence against the defendant in addition to this.”

Sam produces the small vial from his pocket, the recollection he received from Grant Krushnic. 

“This memory has also been filed with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Forbidden Substances, where it bears the evidence number V64.29. It shows a wizard, clearly identifiable as the defendant, buying an illegal potion called _Voluptas_ from the witness, whom the DRCFS is currently hunting down. Mr Malfoy received the same kind of potion in July at the hands of his tormentors.”

Sam places the vial in front of Mrs Jorkins before turning around to address the jury. He spares a glance for the HARC table and enjoys the glimpse of utter shock on the lawyers’ faces. 

“Dear ladies and gentlemen of the Wizard’s Court – while I may have yet to provide irrefutable proof that Mr Jones and Mr Sterling were indeed the ones to rape and torture Mr Malfoy, you will find the evidence against Mr Gibbs unchallengeable. I have no further questions for the witness.”

His heart is beating in his throat when he sits down, fully aware that every single pair of eyes in the packed court room is directed at him right now. 

But Sam is beyond caring – he did it. He took down Malcolm Gibbs. Only two more to go. 

*

They are celebrating at Lucifer’s flat that evening. Draco’s former boss has broken out the best wine he owns (without listening to Harry’s protests, much to Draco’s amusement, because Harry really doesn’t like wine) yet they are still waiting on the man of the hour, standing about in the living room. 

“Did he actually travel to Jerusalem?” Harry asks as Lucifer hands him a glass. 

“How should I know?” 

“Well, I thought…” Harry trails off, clearly hoping the other wizard will understand. Draco bites his lip to keep his smile from forming. 

“What?” 

“You and Sam – aren’t you together?”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow and Draco enjoys the sight of Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, flustered. 

“I mean, you are… right?”

“Sam and I are not a couple, if that was the word you were looking for,” Lucifer sneers. “If you take me for such a romantic fool, I must have made a wrong impression on you.”

Unfortunately, Harry is saved from a knock on the door before he can embarrass himself any further. Yet Draco can hardly blame him – he told Harry how long Lucifer and Sam have been dancing around one another, so the only logical conclusion in the world of Harry Potter is, of course, for them to be an item now. 

For the sake of Lucifer’s happiness, Draco wishes it were true. 

“Our hero!” Lucifer greets Sam at the door, but the lawyer rushes inside without acknowledging the comment. 

“HARC rescinded their representation!” he declares, drawing everyone’s attention. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that HARC have terminated their contract to represent Malcolm Gibbs since he lied about his innocence. Whatever else happens, he will be found guilty.”

Draco’s heart literally skips a beat. 

“That’s brilliant!” Harry beams at him and Draco smiles so brightly it hurts after a few moments. 

“How did you get the testimonies?” he finally asks, knowing fully well that his expression must be one of unblemished awe, yet he doesn’t care in the slightest. Sam deserves to see this expression. 

His lawyer shrugs. “Long-distance portkey to Jerusalem; asked around a lot. Every piece of information has a price and as it turns out, Gibbs’ sister didn’t pay much.”

“I’ll repay every knut.”

Sam looks weary when he meets Draco’s eyes. “I’d like to say you don’t have to, but I fear I might need to take you up on that.”

“Of course. I only agreed to the pro bono aspect since it was required in your contract with Triple M.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lucifer interrupts, “let’s leave the financials for another day. We have some celebrating to do.”

Their host ushers them into the dining room, where Lucifer’s house-elf prepared dinner and when their plates are clean, Draco braves the topic he is most afraid of. 

“Sam, what now? What other cards do you have up your robes?”

“Oh, please, do tell,” Lucifer comments, already smirking. 

“It’s risky, but I’m positive it’ll work,” Sam begins after a pregnant pause. Draco’s mouth goes dry as worry creeps underneath his skin. “I hired a private investigator to find out more about Charlotte Evergreen. As it turns out, she’s a prostitute and I have proof –“

“Proof?” Harry looks like he is trying really hard not to imagine how that went down. 

“Pictures,” Sam corrects. “A statement from two clients. I will argue that, since Evergreen sells her body for money, she might also sell her testimony.”

“Merlin,” Harry gasps, “are you serious?”

“What?” Draco narrows his eyes at him. 

“You’re going to motion for Veritaserum, aren’t you?” 

“I thought that’s incredibly complicated?” Draco interjects just as Sam holds up a hand to silence them. 

“I will file a motion to use Veritaserum on Mrs Evergreen, and if her new statement differs from her official one, we will question the defendants that way, too.”

“Good! Then they’ll admit to their crimes and the jury will send them to Azkaban!”

“My plan might fail.”

“No one will see it coming, though,” Harry says. “You need an unbreakable argument for using Veritaserum and the work that takes is enough to deter most from even trying. Besides, I’m sure HARC believe Jones’ alibi is curse proof.”

Sam runs a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh. “That’s my reasoning, too.”

Lucifer sets his glass down on the table. “Sam, I have seen your paperwork. It’s sufficient and unchallengeable. Also, don’t forget that there is a lot riding on this case – Mrs Jorkins won’t allow any room for doubt or hell, Draco suing for unfair treatment if she sides with HARC on not using the Veritaserum. Stop worrying – it’s done.”

Sam holds the man’s gaze for a long moment before he nods and Draco feels a bit of the tension seep from his body. Lucifer is right. Sam’s case is strong and if Jorkins denies his motion, it will look like she is biased against Draco. 

Still, the thought of all of his attackers locked up in Azkaban seems surreal. Draco can’t picture this reality by any stretch of his imagination.

*

The door falls shut after Draco and Harry. Sam is still in the living room, using the excuse of having to finish his wine. Lucifer can feel those brown eyes on him. 

“You’re a brilliant lawyer,” he begins. “You are going to win this trial, smash HARC and publically humiliate them. Every law firm in the country will headhunt you.”

Lucifer turns around and spies Sam at the foot of the sofa on the side nearest to the front door. 

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.” Sam rises, his hand still holding the wine glass. 

“But you already have an offer. An offer you have yet to either refuse or accept.” 

Lucifer knows he is pushing his luck but he needs an answer. He has been waiting for Sam to make up his mind about joining his firm – granted, Sam had a lot on his mind. Still. Such opportunities aren’t known for their unlimited availability. 

“You want to talk about this _now_?”

“You said it yourself; you have nothing on Sterling, he has great friends who won’t recede his alibi because you turn your puppy-eyes on them. You don’t need to prep for tomorrow. The paperwork for Thursday is finished. Why not talk about it now?”

Sam drains the remaining wine and places the empty glass on the coffee table. “You’re acting like a child.”

“Oh, am I?”

“I’m approaching the climax of the most important case of my life and all you worry about is whether or not I’ll join your firm.”

“I am capable of having multiple thought processes at once, Sam.”

“It’s about your priorities, Lucifer!”

“You’ve always known I’m an egoistic arse. No need to act so righteous now.”

“Pretend, then! Pretend your firm is taking a backseat, just until the ruling on Friday. Act like a decent human being for once!”

The comment stings inexplicably hard. Lucifer attempts to swallow the rage building up in his chest, yet it is like applying a Muggle band aid to a magically severed leg. 

“Is that what you want from me? To act like a decent man?” Lucifer crosses the distance between them in two strides and steps into Sam’s personal space a moment later. “Guess what, Sammy – I won’t. You can’t fix me or save me or whatever it is you think you want,” he growls, not even fighting it as his eyes turn black. “I won’t change for anyone, no matter how good your skin tastes or how good your cock feels deep inside my arse. So if that’s your main objective here, just go now and never look back.”

Lucifer stands there, breathing hard, waiting for Sam’s reaction. His brown eyes are dilated, pupils blown wide, but that doesn’t mean anything. As Sam has proven, he is not so easily seduced. 

In that moment, Lucifer would have bet everything he owns on Sam walking out and never speaking to him again. As always, though, the former hunter knows how to surprise him.

Instead of running off, Sam closes the remaining space between them, smashing their mouths together in a brutal kiss. Lucifer stumbles ungracefully when Sam’s chest collides with his own, but the lawyer already has an arm around Lucifer’s waist, keeping him from falling completely. 

Sam claws at the buttons of Lucifer’s robes and has them open and pushed back over his shoulders before he fully realises what is happening but it doesn’t matter because there are teeth closing over his right nipple and a strong hand on his left. 

Lucifer moans and arches up into the touch, welcoming the pain of teeth scraping over skin and the sensation of Sam’s hands all over him. 

He flicks his wrist and Sam is fully naked, his cock already half hard between his legs. Lucifer’s mouth waters at the sight but he doesn’t get to follow this train of thought because Sam growls and whirls him around, bending him over the back rest of the settee.

Not that Lucifer is complaining, quite the contrary. A quick spell and he is naked, two more have him stretched and wet. He wills himself to relax just in time for Sam to enter him in one fluid motion, gripping his hips for support. 

The rhythm they set is fast and hard, lacking finesse and still oh so perfect. Sam is plastered over his back – Lucifer can feel every shift of his muscles, every twitch of his abs until Sam’s hand closes around his aching erection, drawing all of Lucifer’s attention to the heat building in his groin. 

He spills his release against the back of the sofa, relishing the fact that Sam doesn’t even slow his rhythm, keeps shagging him, chasing his orgasm until he, too, comes deep inside of him. 

Once his motor skills have returned, Lucifer glances down to where Sam’s hands have left bruises, then looks Sam straight in the eyes. 

“Apparently I’m not the only one who can be selfish.”

Sam glares at him, summons his clothes and is gone within a minute. 

*

Wednesday in court is so uneventful, it borders on boring. At least for Harry. Brett Sterling denies the accusations, goes along with the imposture theory and the most incriminating things Sam managed to dig up on the bastard is the fact that he sometimes frequents a Wizarding fetish club in North London where he can indulge in all the pain play he wants. 

However, an uncommon fetish doesn’t make him a rapist, especially when he has an alibi Sam didn’t manage to crack despite knowing it is false. 

When they come home, Draco is strung tighter than a bow. Harry can’t fault him – everything hinges on how the next twenty-four hours go, how Mrs Jorkins will take to the motion, if they allow Veritaserum. 

There is a possibility the jury will find Jones guilty even without the Veritaserum, but it is minimal at best. 

“Let me help you take your mind off things,” Harry whispers in Draco’s ear later on the sofa and kisses his neck gently. 

“And how would you do that?” Draco sounds interested at least, even though he still seems a little distracted. 

“I’ve been thinking about you inside of me a lot,” Harry explains and this time it is Draco who splutters (not that Harry can’t feel the blush colouring his cheeks). “I’d like that again.”

“Bloody hell, yes.”

That is all the permission Harry needs before climbing into Draco’s lap, careful not to exert too much pressure. The last time he forgot to do that ended in a panic attack on Draco’s part. 

Tonight, however, Harry will think of everything. His fingers are gentle and slow as they unbutton Draco’s robes, giving him room in return to undress Harry. They take their time, kissing between items of clothing until only their underwear remains and Harry looks down at Draco’s erection straining against the fabric with small pride. 

“How do you want it?” Draco asks. Harry’s eyes widen but the blond doesn’t seem to notice how he just handed Harry the power of choice.

He swallows, finding his mouth dry as parchment. “I’d like to ride you,” he admits, blushing again. Draco’s eyes darken at the suggestion and he moves his legs further apart. 

“I’d like that.”

“Prepare me?” Harry smiles as he grabs the waistband of his briefs and pulls them down. He has to climb off Draco to completely rid them both of their clothes but it doesn’t take long until he is on the sofa again, one of Draco’s fingers circling his hole. Harry lowers himself further but Draco still doesn’t breach him.

“Please,” Harry gasps, watching as Draco closes his eyes for a second, ceasing his motions, his cock twitching where it is resting against his stomach. 

“Are you sure?” 

Harry nods vehemently, groaning when seconds later he feels the magical stretch and lubrication. He lifts his arse, waiting until Draco has aligned himself and then sinks down slowly, enjoying every inch of Draco’s cock as it enters him. 

Once Draco is fully sheathed, they lean their foreheads together and simply breathe for a moment. 

Harry rolls his hips experimentally, drawing a gasp from Draco’s lips. Harry loves the sounds Draco makes when they are having sex and he can never get enough of them. The position does wonders for this – Harry can control the rhythm; can speed up when Draco moans only to make him moan again. Harry trails kisses down Draco’s throat, soft and gentle but intimate enough to make the blond shiver. Little by little, Harry takes Draco apart with pleasure and sensations until his partner shatters to pieces underneath him, shouting his name. 

Harry climbs off, one hand already on his neglected erection. His eyes glide over the expanse of Draco’s pale skin, covered by a sheen of sweat. Draco’s hair is glowing in the light from the fire, his face flushed, lips swollen from kissing. 

The sight is highly erotic and even before Draco regains his mental capacities, Harry comes into his hand, catching every last drop before it hits Draco by accident. 

He vanishes the mess with a flick of his wrist, then huddles close to Draco on the couch. Draco tilts his head to press a kiss on Harry’s bare chest. 

“We have to remember that position,” he murmurs against his skin. Harry can feel his lips move. 

“Definitely. But I fear I’ll have muscle ache tomorrow.”

Draco chuckles. “Then we’ll need to train to keep that from happening again. It’s embarrassing.” 

“Only if people hear about it.”

“I intend to give an interview on our sex life, Harry.”

For the brief moment it takes him to catch up with the sarcasm in Draco’s voice, Harry panics and Draco notices, which sends him into a laughing fit and he almost falls off the sofa. Harry hauls him back up where the blond collapses against his chest and burrows close. Harry strokes his shoulder until Draco’s breathing evens out and he is fast asleep, missing his post-coital shower. 

Harry’s chest swells when he realises what happened and he smiles against Draco’s hair, incredibly humbled that he managed to make Draco relax this much. 

*

Waking up on a very naked Harry is a novelty. Draco blinks his eyes open in the darkness; the fire has long since died down. A quick Tempus charm tells him it is after midnight. 

His brain is still addled with sleep and moving into the bedroom seems like a colossal undertaking so Draco stays right here, with one of Harry’s arms around his torso and Harry’s chest as his pillow. 

*

The shock comes the following morning. 

“Do you have any idea what big a step this is?” Harry asks once they are both awake. 

It takes Draco a moment to understand what his partner is aiming at, but when he does, Draco’s heart relocates to his throat. 

“I didn’t shower.” It is more statement than question and all Harry does is smile. 

Draco has no idea how to react, how to act, how to treat this… this success. Because it is a success. Even now that he knows he didn’t feel the need to scrub is skin raw after an orgasm, Draco doesn’t remedy his neglect. He buries his face in Harry’s skin instead, breathing in his scent. 

All right, maybe the shower he does take that morning is scorching hot and long, but that doesn’t make his success any less noteworthy. For a few minutes, it even takes his mind off the day at trial looming over him. 

That is, until he opens the Prophet at breakfast. Most of the title page is taken up by a picture of Allan Jones in the company of a tall woman with thick, brown curls. The article identifies her as Charlotte Evergreen, Jones’ alibi-giver and apparently, his girlfriend. 

“ _The pictures were sent from an anonymous source_ ,” Draco reads out loud, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll bet any amount of money that HARC leaked them themselves.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Harry agrees. “Their timing is great, after all.”

“And the fact that she’s working at HARC’s office makes this even more believable – why would they plant a scandal that blemishes the image of their firm?”

“It won’t be enough, Draco. Don’t think that for a second.”

Their eyes meet across the table, Harry’s brimming with conviction. Draco immediately feels better. 

*

“How much money does a clerk make at HARC?” Sam asks Charlotte Evergreen who sits, calm and collected, in front of the court. 

“Objection,” Jessica Hardman immediately calls. “Irrelevant to the case.”

“It is highly relevant to my argument,” Sam defends his question and both lawyers turn towards Mrs Jorkins to await her judgement. 

“Overruled.”

Draco notices the small smile tugging at Sam’s lips as he raises an expectant eyebrow at the witness. 

“I got by.”

“Then who is paying for your sick father’s care?”

Evergreen hesitates briefly, obviously surprised by the question. “I’m not in contact with my father.”

“So you don’t know how he is? You never visit him in St Mungo’s?”

“No.”

“Who pays for his medical bills, Miss Evergreen?”

“I don’t know, nor do I care,” she replies through gritted teeth. Draco wishes he brought snacks; the show Sam is orchestrating is better than most films Draco has seen in the past weeks. 

“You see,” Sam proceeds, approaching the witness stand; “the payment for your father is always made anonymously, yet he never has a single visitor. Might it be that you’re paying those bills, even though he broke off your relationship after you refused to follow in his footsteps as a broom maker?”

“What are you implying?”

“You tell me, Miss Evergreen.” 

Draco has to hand it to the woman – she has a poker face to rival the Malfoy Mask. 

“OBJECTION!” Jessica Hardman again. “Misleading and insinuating!”

Mrs Jorkins seems close to rolling her eyes. “Mr Winchester, please make your point.”

Sam nods by way of thanks. 

“Answer my question, Miss Evergreen: Are you the one who pays his bills?”

Charlotte remains silent. 

“Miss Evergreen.”

When the woman still doesn’t reply, Mrs Jorkins becomes active. “Answer the question. Remember that you are under oath.”

The witness swallows, then takes a deep breath. “Yes, I pay his bills.”

“Where does the money come from?” 

“Savings,” she says immediately. “I don’t need much to get by.” 

“Savings? Is that your final answer?”

Charlotte glances across the room to her lawyers before settling on a firm “Yes”. 

“You see, Miss Evergreen, I believe you are lying –“

“Objection, the council’s beliefs don’t factor into juridical proceedings.”

“Apologies, poor choice of words,” Sam placates Hardman immediately. 

“Choose them wisely now, Mr Winchester,” Jorkins admonishes. “I have half a mind to hold you in contempt.”

Draco grimaces at the thought while Sam clears his throat. 

“Miss Evergreen, do you deny having another job in addition to the one at HARC?”

“Yes.”

“The job you hold since 2001?”

“Yes.”

“Are you absolutely certain these answers are truthful?”

“Yes.”

Sam pauses dramatically. “So you don’t trade sex for money?”

“OBJECTION!”

“Overruled,” is the immediate reply. If Draco isn’t mistaken, Mrs Jorkins looks intrigued. 

Sam’s back straightens almost imperceptibly as he pulls himself up to his full height. “Miss Evergreen, do you trade sex for money?”

She swallows. “No.”

Sam wanders back to their table and picks up a pile of pictures that have been hidden underneath another folder up until now. 

“Then how do you explain these pictures, Miss Evergreen? They show you receiving Galleons from a wizard, and afterwards engaging in carnal activities with the same man, who looks like he is actually a paying customer, not a chance sexual encounter.”

Eerie silence falls over the court room. Draco can see Sam’s hand trembling with excitement as he places the stack of photos in front of Mrs Jorkins. 

“I’d like to enter these pictures as evidence against the defendants and further argue that, if Miss Evergreen sells her body for money, why are we to rule out she might not accept payment for perjuring herself? I am sure a look into her Gringotts accounts would show that no savings exist and that the money for her father’s health care comes solely from her job as a prostitute.” Sam pauses again, returning his attention to the witness. 

“Some pictures were taken in the morning on weekdays – time she should have spent at work if she is working at HARC in the first place. Records of employment are easily falsified after all and no one of her alleged co-workers at the firm recalls ever seeing someone matching Charlotte Evergreen’s description in the clerical department when I asked them.”

Draco glances at the lawyers on the other side of the room and finds immense satisfaction in their reaction. All their eyes are wide, their mouths either thin lines or slightly open. Even Jessica Hardman seems genuinely shocked, despite being the most collected of the four. 

Allan Jones, meanwhile, has gone even paler than Charlotte Evergreen. 

“This evidence genuinely sheds doubts on the validity of the witness’ testimony and this wouldn’t be the first time a witness of the defence has been found a fraud.”

Sam walks back to their table and retrieves another file, holding it up before approaching Mrs Jorkins again to grant everyone a look. 

“I hereby motion for the use of Veritaserum on Miss Charlotte Evergreen as well as on the defendants if Miss Evergreen has indeed perjured herself.”

That finally snaps Jessica Hardman out of her stupor. “Objection! There is by no means sufficient reason to use a truth serum, Mrs Jorkins and dear members of the jury. A few probably forged pictures – “

“The court will consider and examine all the evidence themselves, thank you, Mrs Hardman,” the spokeswoman interrupts her loudly and with finality. “The court will reconvene tomorrow morning to declare its ruling and proceed in accordance with that ruling. Mr Winchester,” she adds, and Draco’s blood freezes. “Please visit me in my chambers. Dismissed.”

“Draco, wait for my return here,” Sam instructs him before disappearing into the antechamber. 

*

Mrs Jorkins is already sitting behind her desk, his motion for Veritaserum open in front of her. She doesn’t say anything for a long time while she is leafing through the documents. 

When she finally does look up, she appears intrigued more than hostile. Inwardly, Sam sighs in relief. 

“How sure are you that the defence is lying?” she asks in a tone that doesn’t fit the gravity of her question, yet Sam doesn’t let it faze him. 

“Beyond the shadow of a doubt.”

She considers him a few seconds longer before nodding. “You can go.”

*

That night, when Lucifer predictably knocks on Sam’s door, he not only hears it but is expecting it. 

Sam opens the door and swiftly pulls the man inside, slams him against the wall across from the robe rack, and crowds into his space, claiming his mouth with his own. 

“Professional success makes you horny, I have to remember that,” Lucifer pants as Sam’s tongue licks a path down his throat. The man still has it in him to be sassy – Sam intends to change that. 

He falls to his knees, taking pride in the moan that escapes Lucifer’s lips when he does, and frees Lucifer’s cock with a flick of his wrist. He is already hard, which makes it easy for Sam to swallow him down as far as he can before pulling off again to lab at the slit…

It is messy and quick; within minutes Sam reduces Lucifer to whimpers and when he comes, Sam swallows, licking him clean before rising to his feet again. 

He spins Lucifer around, presses him against the wall, trapping him there. The spells have barely taken effect before Sam enters him, tight heat enveloping him in the sweetest way possible. 

Sam sometimes damns the fact that the sex is almost too good. It is like he and Lucifer just click, it works so perfectly. It is a balanced give and take and right now, Lucifer is taking everything Sam gives him beautifully. 

He drags it out, bites the skin covering Lucifer’s shoulder blades, holds off his own orgasm long enough to make the other man hard again. Then, and only then, Sam pulls both of them off the wall and lowers them onto the floor. He covers Lucifer’s body with his own and rolls his hips until gasps turn into moans and he knows he has found the right spot. 

Trapped between Sam’s torso and the floor, Lucifer can’t jerk himself off, can only dig his fingers into the rug and arch his back until Sam can’t take it anymore. He lifts himself up on his arms and fucks into Lucifer with abandon, setting a brutal pace that leaves them both a sweaty mess on the floor in the end. 

And if Lucifer has rug burn now, Sam never hears him complain.

 

*

Even though Harry wore him out with a wonderful blow job, sleep eludes Draco that night. Too many thoughts about the possible outcomes of the court ruling; worries about what might go wrong even if Charlotte Evergreen receives Veritaserum – maybe there is a black market antidote that can be taken pre-emptively? 

Harry’s sleeping form is a soothing presence and Draco tries to distract himself from his thoughts by cataloguing every aspect of Harry’s body; the perpetually dishevelled hair, the gradually fading scar, his lips, his strong arms where the shirt he is wearing doesn’t hide the skin… 

Draco can’t imagine how he would feel if Harry weren’t at his side, hadn’t been at his side those past weeks. Harry might not think so, but Draco knows that Harry is neglecting his own therapy for Draco’s sake – he would have to be a daft fool not to see it. 

Once this is over and Draco has been made partner, he will be the supportive boyfriend, he will be Harry’s shoulder to cry on. He swears it to Harry in the dark bedroom of his flat, even though the man can’t hear him. 

*

_VERITASERUM USED IN WIZARD’S COURT FOR FIRST TIME SINCE DEATH EATER TRIALS?_  
 _By Rita Skeeter_

_Yesterday’s session in Malfoy vs. Jones/Gibbs/Sterling saw the making of history: Malfoy’s lawyer, Sam Winchester, motioned for the use of Veritaserum on Miss Charlotte Evergreen, Allan Jones’ girlfriend and alibi._

_According to the evidence Winchester filed with the jury, Miss Evergreen lied about her occupation, concealing the fact that she is also a prostitute. Winchesters argued that, if the witness trades sex for money, assuming she will perjure herself for the right amount of galleons isn’t far-fetched._

_The Court will rule this morning whether to grant the motion or not. Should the former be the case, it would constitute the first use of a truth serum since the Death Eater Trials of ’98. However, if the jury denies Winchester’s motion, it will be an enormous blow to his line of defence and the first positive news for Allan Jones in a long time._

_Expect a special afternoon issue of the Prophet today where you will find out how the Court decided!_

*

Sam leaves his apartment especially early on Friday to reach the court as soon as possible and thus hopefully evading the reporters. Being on the front page of the Prophet is a thrill in its own right, and this time it is because of something noteworthy _he_ did, not just because he is associated with the right people. 

His thoughts are on the scenarios he has prepared for as he rounds the corner of his apartment building to find a lonely spot to apparate, which is probably why he didn’t see the attack coming. 

A curse hits him in the back and sends him flying into a wall. Pain explodes where his shoulder makes contact with brick but his childhood training kicks in immediately. He is on his feet, wand drawn, before the attacker can fling anything else at him. 

Only – his attacker is already on the ground, stupefied by the look of it. A tall, red-haired woman in inconspicuous black robes is standing above him, wand trained on the unconscious man. 

“Thank you,” Sam says for lack of a better alternative. 

“Thank Mr Milton,” she tells him and Sam narrows his eyes. 

“Lucifer? He sent you?”

“It either says a lot about my skills that you didn’t notice me before or you should be glad you’ve gone into law rather than law enforcement.”

Sam blinks. “How long?”

“Relax; only since Tuesday.”

“But why?”

“Do I look like an information point? Ask your boy toy. Now, do you want me to let him go or press charges for assault?”

Sam quickly considers his options – he really doesn’t want to draw attention away from Draco’s trial. Even if HARC ordered the attack, Mrs Jorkins won’t look kindly on yet another change in the trial proceedings…

“Keep him until the trial ends. We might need him.”

“Can I scare him a little?” She smiles, her red lips parting to reveal perfectly white teeth.

“Uh, not too much?” Sam doubts he wants to know what Lucifer’s lackeys might understand as ‘scaring people’. 

“Fine,” she grumbles, while magical ropes emerge from the tip of her wand and wind themselves around the attacker’s wrists and ankles. 

Sam eventually turns on the spot, apparating to the juridical building of the Ministry, feeling the anger mount in his chest. 

He finds Lucifer later, long after the journalists have arrived, and glares at the wizard. He drags him into an empty hallway and barely refrains from pushing him against the wall in an entirely different manner than last night. 

“Care to tell me why you have one of your lackeys following me?” 

The man merely cocks an eyebrow. “What, me ensuring your safety is a problem now?”

“I don’t need a bodyguard –“

“Of course you do! You can’t pull such a stunt, humiliate the most influential law firm in Britain and think everything will be unicorns and rainbows? Don’t be so naïve. I’m having you shadowed for a reason.”

“How dare you –“

“I won’t let your carelessness endanger this trial, Sammy,” Lucifer half-sneers, half-snarls. “You may be brilliant but you’re still too gullible. I know how people like Jessica Hardman tick. If I were her, I’d have ordered a hit on you even sooner.”

Sam gapes at him. “You wouldn’t just kill –“

Lucifer’s eyes turn black from one moment to the next. “I would and I have. I had a life before you knew me, Sammy.”

He wants to argue, to assure Lucifer that he has changed but Sam’s voice has left him and before he manages to retrieve it, they hear the sound of the court room doors opening from the main hallway. 

The moment has passed. Lucifer blinks and his eyes are blue once more. 

*

The tension in the room is almost palpable and Harry feels a thrill of anticipation course through him as Mrs Jorkins and the jury appear and take their seats. Silence has fallen and even though Harry can’t see the faces of Jones and his lawyers, their postures are all equally rigid. 

“Let me make this quick,” Mrs Jorkins opens and Harry straightens in his seat, glancing at Draco’s tight shoulders in front of him. 

“The Wizard’s Court has reviewed the evidence entered by Mr Winchester and hereby grants his motion for the use of Veritaserum.”

Immediate commotion ensues – the audience is either booing or cheering (Harry loudly participates in the latter) while HARC are objecting profusely. Apparently there are several counter-motions the defence can make yet Mrs Jorkins dismisses all of them. 

Charlotte Evergreen has to take the stand once more, consume a few drops of the serum and soon thereafter, Harry sees her eyes cloud over. 

“Your witness, Mr Winchester.”

Sam leaps to his feet and approaches Evergreen. After a few test questions that the Auror Department also has to adhere to (theoretically, should they ever use Veritaserum), Sam zeroes in on the important things. 

“Were you lying yesterday during your testimony?”

“Yes.”

“What were these lies?”

“I haven’t been employed by HARC since 2001. I am merely completing a six months internship at the firm at the moment. I was asked four weeks ago whether I would help out a client.”

“What did this help entail, Miss Evergreen?”

“Posing as his girlfriend and giving him an alibi.”

“Why did you agree, Miss Evergreen?”

“I needed the money. Jessica Hardman offered me 10,000 Galleons –“ a collective gasp runs through the audience but the witch in question refuses to hang her head. Harry is barely surprised. Of course Hardman would be the one to bribe a witness, feeling secure in the knowledge that no one would ever find out. “My father is sick. I may not be in contact with him anymore but he is the only family I have left. The internship might lead to a paying job yet until then, I have to continue my side job.”

“Which is?”

“I am a prostitute, sir.”

“Did Mr Jones spend the weekend in question with you in July?”

“No.”

“Do you know what he was doing instead?”

“They never told me. But I always thought it was something illegal. Mrs Hardman was always insisting I shouldn’t take on clients during the trial, but I need to live, even if my father’s bills are paid now.”

“Thank you, Miss Evergreen,” Sam concludes, facing the jury once more. 

“In accordance with the ruling of the Court and in light of recent testimony, I demand to question the defendants once more as well, under the influence of Veritaserum.”

Harry holds his breath as he, like every other person in the room, trains his eyes on the spokeswoman. 

Jorkins’ face is set, her features tainted with anger. “Granted. The Court will go into recess and resume the trial at one o’clock. The defendants will not be allowed to leave the building, neither will Miss Evergreen. Dismissed.”

Sam turns around, smiling triumphantly, not a trace of malice in his expression even as he throws Jessica Hardman a look. 

Harry sees Draco’s shoulders sag in relief and realises nothing is hindering him from standing up, closing the distance between them and kissing his boyfriend. 

Which he promptly does. Draco is too overwhelmed to object, kisses him back with fervour until Harry hears Lucifer wolf-whistle and they draw apart. Mrs Jorkins is giving him a stern look, which Harry barely notices because Draco is smiling brightly. 

“We’re almost there,” he breathes and Harry has to kiss him again. 

*

Harry’s good mood lasts until it is Allan Jones’ turn to testify. 

“I was furious after the Death Eater Trial – especially the Malfoys never got what they deserved,” Jones tells the Court in the calm voice of a man under the influence of a truth serum. “I resolved to do something, which is how the Prosecutors were born.”

“So you admit to founding the organisation?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you attack Draco and not his father?”

“He was easier to break. Lucius didn’t have his whole life ahead of him anymore, so assaulting him would not have allowed us to reap the same fruit.”

His words make Harry’s blood boil with anger and he has to force himself to stay put instead of leaping over the railing and breaking the man’s jaw all over again.

“Who were your accomplices?”

“Malcolm Gibbs, Brett Sterling and Cornelius Davenport.”

“How did you find them?”

“I told them about my plan at a Prosecutors meeting. They were all on board, and so we started planning.”

“Who performed which tasks?”

“Malcolm broke the wards. He was also the one to procure the Voluptas potion. Vince had the knife made to ensure we would leave scars that surpassed the psychological. Cornelius bought the sex toys we would use.”

“Did you arrange for a meeting with Charlotte Evergreen on Saturday night, aiming at providing yourself with an alibi?”

“Yes. However, we never spent the night together. She was paid to stay in as if she had a customer. I spent the night at my own flat.”

“How long did you plan to keep Draco Malfoy?”

“A week. We were sure that would break him.”

“Did his escape surprise you?”

“Yes.” Jones’ face morphs into an angry grimace. “I only found out Cornelius gave that Death Eater scum reenergising potions when he traded his confession against a reduced sentence.”

“When your original plan failed in July, how did you react?”

“We kept quiet for a little while until Malfoy received attention from the public. He doesn’t deserve to be written about; he should rot in Azkaban or be put down like the dog he is.”

Harry sees Sam’s hands clench into fists and has a brief moment to be amazed at the lawyer’s restraint. 

“Then we sent him little reminders. We knew he was in therapy. We had done a good job. However, we intended to finish it.”

“How?”

“We knew we had to kill him.”

“But you couldn’t find him due to the Fidelius under whose protection Draco Malfoy placed his flat.”

“Yes. We knew he ended up with a Muggle so we tracked that one down. Tortured him and when he didn’t want to talk and his boyfriend came by, we tortured him, too.”

“In vain, am I correct?”

“Yes. So I called Malfoy from the Muggle’s phone and the bastard came running.”

Sam takes a deep breath and when he speaks again, his voice is shaking with barely controlled anger. “Mr Jones, to sum up: You planned the kidnapping, torture and rape of Draco Malfoy together with Malcolm Gibbs, Brett Sterling and Cornelius Davenport. You went through with said crimes until Mr Malfoy escaped your prison. You further traumatised him by sending him reminders of the weekend. When Mr Malfoy started attracting the public’s attention, you decided to lure him in and kill him. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have anything to add, Mr Jones?”

Suddenly, Jones’ calm face becomes lively again. “I am the wrong person to put on the stand. Malfoy should be here, paying for his crimes but he got off easy again.”

“No declaration of remorse?” Sam asks slowly, making his point obvious. 

“My only regret is that I didn’t manage to kill that Death Eater scum in time. I should have that first weekend. But he adapted so beautifully,” Jones adds, his tone flat but there is a flush rising on his cheeks. “Malfoy is made to be fucked. I hope his new boyfriend know how much he owes us for breaking him in.”

Harry’s body reacts before his mind has a chance to intervene and he is over the railing and charging at Jones until a strong arm grabs him around the waist and stops him. Harry struggles, seeing red, and it might have been minutes until Sam’s words reach him. 

“Stop it, Harry, he testified, he’ll be punished, stop it!”

When his mind clears he is breathing heavily, standing mere feet from Jones who looks terrified. 

“Mr Potter,” Mrs Jones addresses him, “you have thirty seconds to return to your seat or I will hold you in contempt and slap you with a horrendous fine for disrupting the trial.”

Harry barely stops his protests – only does so because Sam steps on his foot, as a matter of fact – and swallows the words down. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs Jorkins.” 

He allows Sam to manoeuvre him back to his seat and he locks eyes with Draco in passing. His partner has turned a dark shade of crimson, yet if from fury or embarrassment, Harry can’t quite tell. 

Once order has returned, Sam clears his throat. “No more questions.”

*

It is both hard and brilliant, listening to his tormentors testify. Gibbs’ telling the Court with sparkling eyes about how responsive Draco was to pain makes Draco’s stomach turn and he has to shield himself off until Sam finishes questioning the wizard, but at the same time Draco’s heart beats a happy rhythm against his chest. 

Nothing is going wrong. There is no black market antidote to Veritaserum, at least none that HARC know of. 

Just like Aiden, Vince admits to everything. Draco feels his scars itch yet he ignores it; thinks instead of the three of them, rotting in Azkaban, hopefully for the foreseeable future. 

Jessica Hardman and her colleagues decline the chance to cross-examine the defendants every time, having apparently resigned themselves to their fate. Hardman’s eyes are wild whenever Draco meets them and he believes he knows why – Evergreen testified that Hardman bribed her for perjuring herself. Draco doubts Mrs Jorkins will let that pass unpunished. 

After the three men have been questioned, Sam gathers his notes for his closing statement; however Mrs Jorkins holds up a hand, making him cease his efforts. 

“It is late, which is why we will forgo the closing statements,” she intones, looking at HARC as if daring them to object, “and go into recess so the court can come to a decision. Don’t stray far,” she adds, “this won’t take long.”

It doesn’t. Draco, Harry, Sam and Lucifer never even leave the court room. When the bells chime to signal the trial will resume shortly, Draco catches the moment his parents re-enter the room. His mother’s eyes are full of empathy and she sends him a tentative smile, yet Lucius doesn’t dare meet his gaze. 

_All right_ , Draco thinks bitterly. _Drown in your guilt but never say anything to me._

This time, Mrs Jorkins doesn’t need to call for order in the Court. Hardman, Avery, Ravensmith and Cee are all wearing blank masks while Stewart, Aiden and Vince seem to be coming out of their Veritaserum-induced haze, their faces a mixture of confusion and blatant horror as their impending fate dawns on them. 

“Mr Malfoy,” the spokeswoman begins and Draco’s head snaps up. “Before we announce the ruling, the jury would like to applaud your courage in the face of such a trauma. When so many would have opted to remain silent, you stepped forward despite the odds being stacked against you. I hope your example will encourage other witches and wizards who have suffered a similar fate to do the same and confront their attacker.”

Jorkins’ face loses its kind expression then, turning grim. “Now, to Charlotte Evergreen – charges have been raised for perjury. She will be tried separately and be held accountable for her actions.”

When she focuses her attention on the defendants, Draco tenses in anticipation that borders on giddy. This is it. This is the moment he almost thought he would never be able to enjoy. 

“The Wizard’s Court wants to express their deepest disgust and condemn the crimes committed at the beginning of July of this year. No excuse legitimatises taking justice into one’s own hands. There is never a reason – never – that excuses rape. There is never a reason that excuses torture. In the case of Malfoy vs. Jones/Gibbs/Sterling, the accused have been found guilty of the charges raised against them on all accounts. In addition to those charges, the defendants have been found guilty of perjury. The Wizard’s Court briefly considered awarding punishment with varying severity. However it was decided that none of the accused deserves such leniency.”

The witch draws herself up to her full height and Draco holds his breath – this will be the final ruling.

“I hereby announce the Court’s verdict: Mr Jones, Mr Gibbs and Mr Sterling, please rise.” 

The men obey, their faces tense. Aiden looks especially grim and there is something in his eyes that raises goose bumps on Draco’s arms. 

“The crimes you have committed go beyond words that adequately describe their severity. To add insult to injury, you lied to the Wizengamot’s committee, trying to evade justice after taking it into your own hands. The Court hereby sentences you to a lifetime in Azkaban without option for parole. You also are to pay a compensation fee of 50,000 Galleons each to Mr Malfoy. The damage done may never be undone, yet your punishment may at least soothe the effects.”

Draco blinks. 150,000 Galleons from all three… That is about 750,000 Pounds. 

He was not expecting that. 

“Please take Mr Jones, Mr Gibbs and Mr Sterling in custody. The Court is adjourned. Dismissed.”

A smile spreads across Draco’s face and he leaps to his feet along with Sam. Their eyes meet and Draco leans in to hug the wizard who made all this possible when suddenly, a cry sounds out from the other side of the room and their heads whip around to see Aiden, flushed crimson from fury, raise his hands. 

Draco looks on, not understanding, but it isn’t relevant since Sam is already reaching for his wand and has a shield up to protect the jury when the blast erupts. 

The force of the explosion reaches them a split of a second after and flings them back, pushing Sam into Draco and forcing them both down where Draco lands hard enough to make him lose consciousness before he has the chance to see where Harry is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *celebratory-cheering* The trial is over!!! And yeah, Aiden wasn’t too happy. I didn’t see that coming, to be honest, but when my characters decide something… *sighs*
> 
> Only a few chapters (2-3) left – I really don’t want it to end but at the same time, it’s a great feeling...
> 
> PS: I have a separate Fanfic tumblr now, if you're interested - you can find me not only [here](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/) (multifandom blog) but also [here](http://jayez-fanfiction.tumblr.com/).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life can finally return to normal. However, after all that has happened – what is normal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so in awe because of all the positive feedback I’ve received for the last chapter! I can’t express how much this means to me and how much I love you guys for it… I hope I can keep up the good work!
> 
> This chapter ties up a lot of loose ends, so prepare for some plot :)
> 
> Also, I might have misspelled Draco’s and Lucifer’s firm in a past chapter (still looking to correct it) – it’s L&D, of course, not L&M, using their first names, not a mixture of both. My apologies...

“THE PROSECUTORS WILL NOT REST!”

Harry hears the words, catches a glimpse of Malcolm Gibbs’ eyes, tainted with uncontained wrath, and just like that, he is back in the field. His instincts take over and his _Protego Maxima_ is up just in time to shield the audience from the worst of the blast. 

Next to him, Lucifer has done the same, is already moving as well, storming towards the front, where the force of the eruption has toppled Sam and Draco. 

As it seems, Sam’s shield charm was wide enough to envelope both of them as well yet Harry’s heart still stops when he finds Draco unconscious. It barely lasts an entire minute, but it is enough to fill Harry’s veins with ice. 

Grey eyes blink open and Harry can breathe again, clutches Draco’s hand, reassuring himself that everything is fine. 

He glances over at Lucifer whose face is ghost-white as he helps Sam to his feet, clearly trying to school his expression, but the lack of colour is telling. 

“What happened?” Draco croaks, also scrambling up. 

“Gibbs,” Harry explains. “He shouted something about the Prosecutors…”

A furious roar interrupts him as Sam rushes forward to where the defendants were just – 

Bloody hell. 

While Jones and Sterling only have minor lacerations and burn marks on them, Malcolm Gibbs looks beyond horrible. 

Harry knows exactly when Draco realises that one of his tormentors might greet death instead of serving a lifetime sentence because he can feel Draco stiffen, can practically sense the apprehension rolling off him. 

Sam, however, won’t let that happen. 

“Don’t you dare die on us,” he tells the lifeless figure on the ground, casting the kind of healing spells a lawyer really should not have any business knowing. 

Before Harry can check on those injured, the doors burst open, revealing emergency Mediwizards and Aurors.

“Potter, what happened,” Robards shoots at him, more command than question. 

Harry tells his boss what he knows, catches Ron’s eye over Robards’ shoulder when he mentions the verdict, and then pulls Draco and himself out of the way since he can’t help because of his suspension. 

Instead, he holds onto Draco, an arm wrapped around his waist as they watch the Healers take care of HARC, Jones and Sterling, having transported Gibbs off to St Mungo’s minutes ago. 

“This trial was a blast, wouldn’t you say,” is Lucifer’s opening line when he sits down next to them after he gave his statement to the Aurors. 

Draco actually laughs out loud at that but Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Any idea what you’re going to do with 150,000 Galleons?”

Draco shakes his head, a dazed expression on his face. Harry won’t even try to guess how his partner is feeling right now. “I still can’t believe it’s over.”

Harry squeezes his hand affectionately and Draco smiles at him. 

“Hate to ruin the mood,” Lucifer begins and Harry can’t stop himself from talking over him. 

“Then don’t?”

The wizard raises an eyebrow. “If it weren’t important, I wouldn’t. However, since that wanker didn’t succeed in hurting anybody save himself, I fear the Prosecutors won’t like this one bit.”

“What do you suggest?” Draco asks. A voice in Harry’s head that sounds suspiciously like Moody supplies, _‘Constant vigilance’_. 

“I’ve had Sam tailed since Tuesday; and good thing I did, too. You’ll both get body guards and no, that’s non-negotiable.”

“Where will you find body guards?” Harry can’t help but ask. Draco and Lucifer share a meaningful look. 

“I have my sources. You won’t notice them.“ Harry scoffs and wants to object – he is an Auror after all – but Lucifer doesn’t let him. “If you did, they wouldn’t be doing their job right. Just rest assured they will be there.”

Harry would have protested – he doesn’t need anyone risking their lives for him, not again – if Sam hadn’t caught their attention, telling them that they could go and that the Healers would let them know about Malcolm Gibb’s health as soon as there was something to tell.

“They seem optimistic, though,” Sam assures them and even looks like he is being genuine. 

Their original plan was to go out for dinner but neither of them feels up to being in public, so they all retreat to Draco’s flat.

They order food, and once everyone has their beverage of choice, Draco raises his whisky. 

He looks lost for words, opens his mouth then closes it again a few times and Harry is just glad that Draco feels comfortable enough to show his emotional state like this, that he isn’t pretending to be collected and calm. 

“Thank you,” is what he eventually settles on, glancing from Lucifer to Sam to Harry and back to his boss-to-be. “Thank you for making me seek help; thank you for being supportive where so many wouldn’t have cared.” Draco swallows hard before he turns towards Sam. “Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have won without you and I owe you my eternal gratitude. And a lot of money,” he adds with a smirk, making them all laugh. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Sam toasts, and there is just a hint of bitterness in his voice. 

Finally, Draco looks at Harry, eyes bright and open, yet he doesn’t say anything. If he is honest, Harry doesn’t expect him to. Draco Malfoy doesn’t declare his feelings unless the moment is intimate and private. Besides - the small, genuine smile Draco is giving him tells Harry everything he needs to know. 

“Here’s to you,” Draco concludes, raising his glass. 

“And to you,” Lucifer adds. “You’re one brave wizard and I can’t wait to revolutionise the Wizarding financial market with you.”

“Hear, hear,” Harry echoes, taking a sip from his glass. 

After their plates are cleared, an owl Patronus appears in front of Sam and a tense silence falls over them. 

“Mr Gibbs made it. He is alive and will heal with time,” the silver owl tells them and next to Harry, Draco sighs in relief, running his hands over his face. 

Harry smiles at his partner, kissing his temple. That bastard will pay after all, for the rest of his life. 

They are all exhausted, Sam more than any of them after weeks of too little sleep and too much adrenaline, so it doesn’t surprise Harry when the lawyer is the first to bid them goodnight.

“We’ll talk soon,” Draco assures him as he escorts him to the door. Harry, though, is a lot more intrigued by Lucifer’s expression. He and Sam just shared an entire conversation with just a look and as a result, Lucifer relaxes back into his chair instead of remaining on the edge of the seat or following the wizard, as Harry would have expected him to. 

Harry raises an eyebrow at the man. 

“He needs his beauty rest,” Lucifer replies magnanimously, focussing on Draco when the blond re-enters the living room area. “And so do both of you. Shall I annoy you tomorrow about that thing we’re planning or shall I give you the weekend off?”

“The latter,” Draco decides as he settles into Harry’s side, which is where he falls asleep soon after, leaving Harry to hold a conversation with Lucifer alone. It doesn’t take long until the man bids him good night, letting himself out of the flat while Harry rearranges both his and Draco’s limbs so they are more comfortable on the sofa.

It takes him long to fall asleep, though - now that he is alone his thoughts are circling back to the court room, the explosion, the threat of the Prosecutors… but Ron and his team are on their tracks. Olaf Jesperson proved to be a valuable witness, being the one to purge the wands of all Prosecutors who committed crimes. Indicting them all takes time, some are rather good at hiding… but Harry is confident. He trusts in Ron’s abilities. 

There is still the fallout from the trial to worry about. Harry might have managed to evade the press since his and Draco’s relationship was revealed, but he won’t be able to do that once he is back on the force, or once Hermione manages to drag him to another fundraiser. 

Harry presses closer against Draco, almost wishing he could stay in this flat forever. 

_Well, that’s something I definitely won’t tell Aphrodite tomorrow_ , he thinks bitterly. He has half a mind to cancel his session as it is.

Shaking his head, he postpones the decision until tomorrow and focuses on the warmth radiating from Draco, allowing the familiarity of it to lull him to sleep after all. 

*

Draco wakes up on the first day after the trial feeling lighter than he has since the original incident in July. 

It is nonsense, yet somehow it seems as though he is breathing more freely, as if a weight was lifted off his chest. 

“An adequate analogy,” Aphrodite agrees. “You received closure. You can move on.”

“I actually can,” Draco whispers, more to himself, realising with a start that it is actually true. 

“What are you thinking?”

Really, Draco should know by now that every interior monologue in her office won’t escape the doctor. He might as well save himself and always say it out loud the first time from now on. 

“It will be different. Everything. L&D opens its doors in a few weeks; people now look at me and see a rape victim… and Harry Potter’s boyfriend…”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Well, at least I’m no longer the former Death Eater.”

It might be awful. Draco has yet to venture out in public, has yet to discover whether people will greet him with disgust, pity, or respect in their eyes. Especially in the light of Skeeter’s latest article, which turned yesterday’s occurrence into a three page cover story with a lot of it dedicated to the Prosecutors. And, of course, to Harry and him. 

_With the trial behind them, Wizarding London awaits Potter’s and Malfoy’s first move. Given how often Draco Malfoy appeared in public during his time at Milton’s Magical Money, there is hope that he will keep with his busy schedule and perchance even drag his partner along with him._

_Meanwhile, the opinion prevails that Malfoy won’t keep the money the Wizard’s Court awarded him but will instead turn his eye to charity, just like his father frequently does. Will Draco Malfoy even establish a fund of his own? Maybe for fellow rape victims? Or will it pertain to educational work, spreading tolerance and awareness?_

Sometimes, Draco really questions society’s priorities if seeing Harry Potter in public ranks so high on its list. 

However, the weekend ahead is free from any worries. Harry and he spend the afternoon flying and the evening celebrating the trial’s outcome with Harry cooking at Draco’s flat and a few funny movies together with Jo and Emerson, who are both immensely pleased with the outcome (and with escaping the obliviators). 

On Sunday, Draco tags along to the Granger-Weasley (Weasley-Granger? Draco never remembers) household for lunch and tea, which is cut short when Ron is being commandeered back to the Ministry because of a new development in the complex case regarding the Prosecutors.

Hours later, Ron shows up on their doorstep at Grimmauld Place, grinning from ear to ear and thrumming with positive excitement. 

Not even the fact that it is Draco opening the door, green jumper askew from hurriedly pulling it on again since the doorbell just interrupted a heavy snogging session in the living room, can apparently ruin the redhead’s mood. 

“Oi Draco,” he greets, pushing into the room. “I have the best of news!” 

“Ron?” Harry looks slightly more debauched but if his best friend notices, he doesn’t let on. 

“The case is closed, mate!”

“What?!”

“Well, not closed,” Ron amends, “although – no. But basically yeah.”

“How? Ron, full sentences, please?”

“Oh, right, sorry.” He shakes his head briefly before taking a deep breath. “The emergency today – that was because we received an anonymous tip that the Prosecutors were planning an attack on the cell where they are holding Jones and Sterling until they are transferred to Azkaban. So we assembled a team and followed the lead and guess what, mate? It was true. We caught a lot of those gits in the act of preparing all sorts of magical bombs and those who weren’t there will go down, I promise you. Two of the members are already negotiating a deal, you know. They are going to give up their partners in crime for immunity.”

“That’s…” Harry seems lost for words, overcome with emotion and Draco jumps in. 

“Wonderful news!” Because it really is. 

“It is, isn’t it? Anyway, I have to go; need to be in really early tomorrow so I should go home and seek a bed.”

They guide Ron out and once the door clicks shut after him, Draco has an armful of Harry and his lips on him. 

Months ago, this sort of sudden affection would have sent him straight into a panic attack but those are Harry’s lips, soft and familiar, and Draco’s body reacts reflexively, kissing him back and threading a hand in his hair. 

“Let’s take this to the bedroom,” Draco purrs into Harry’s ear, relishing the shiver it causes to run through his partner’s body before he grasps Harry’s hand and pulls him up the stairs.

*

Sam sleeps for 18 hours. 

It’s not the first time that it happens, though – when he was younger, before college, in a time where life took place in shabby motels and consisted of accompanying his brother and father on hunts while trying to keep up with school, sometimes Sam didn’t sleep much for days on end. 

And once the hunt was over, he would crash for as long as he could. 

It feels like the aftermath of a hunt, too. His body is exhausted after weeks of adrenaline, stress, too little sleep, and too much caffeine, after being strung so tight because there was still a chance everything might go south. 

But it didn’t. He won the case. 

Oh, not only did he win, but he destroyed HARC in the process. It was only a small paragraph in this morning’s Prophet, which Sam is reading at six in the evening, but Skeeter did mention legal consequences for Jessica Hardman and her team. 

_Their firm won’t survive that blow_ , Sam thinks in dark satisfaction. 

Which brings him to the topic of his employment. Finally, he allows himself to consider Lucifer’s offer. And who is he kidding? Of course he wants to work for the man – they make a brilliant team, he offered him allotted time for pro bono work and the sex they might be having on desks and conference rooms? That’s just the cherry on top. 

However, after all the shit Lucifer put him through, Sam has no interest in making it easy for the man. 

So he opens the mail that arrived throughout the day and fetches parchment and quill with a wicked smile on his lips. 

*

By the time he returns to his flat on Friday night, Sam feels kind of dirty despite his best intentions. 

Every law firm in the country (and a few from the continent and overseas) are apparently interested in him and have no qualms showing it. Just now he had dinner with the CEO of Wolfram & Hart, an American based firm with a large office in London and enough money to treat Sam to the most expensive meal he has ever tasted. 

Monday it was tea in a mansion with the head of Cyrus’ Capital Conductors and a game of golf with the wizard (needless to say, golf won’t be Sam’s newest hobby, even if the magical version is slightly less boring than the Muggle one).

Tuesday saw Sam shaking hands with the chairwoman of an international bank with a much wider scope than Gringotts and ties to goblins in some parts of Europe, who offered him a pay check that made Sam’s head spin. That evening he was also wined and dined by the Scottish equivalent of HARC. The meal must have cost more than Sam’s entire wardrobe.

On Wednesday, a legal firm specialising in divorces portkeyed him to a tropical island somewhere in the Caribbean, which belongs to the woman in charge, herself happily married to husband number five. If her unicorn horn necklace is anything to go by, she really seems to be a great divorce lawyer. 

Sam tries to enjoy the attention. He opens every letter congratulating him on his success; he unwraps every present, from expensive fruit baskets to Garfield Glamorous Garment certificates, and keeps a list of every job offer he receives in the course of those seven days. 

Sam can see himself working for several of these firms – well, in those that have little to do with finance and emphasise pro bono work. Darby & Partners, whose CEO Edward Darby invited Sam to his office on Thursday, would be a brilliant work environment, even if the man himself makes Sam uncomfortable. 

But every time a potential employer smiles at him, every time they reveal what they are willing to pay him, what services they offer their employees, Sam hears a voice in his head, asking him if this is what he really wants. 

The voice sounds suspiciously like Lucifer, the proverbial devil on his shoulder (fuck, maybe even the actual devil on his shoulder), reminding him that all these smiles are at least 30 per cent fake, that the food and the gifts are just there to lure him in and that, with Lucifer and Draco, Sam would have honest partners that he knows and, to some extent at least, trusts. 

He might not know about every skeleton in Lucifer’s basement, but he knows the man better than anyone save Draco, probably. 

Sam flings himself onto his sofa with a groan. One more day of people sucking up to him. One more day of delaying the decision-making. 

*

“Harry, which colour would you say is better?” Draco asks, holding up three identical business cards bearing the letters L&D on the front, framed by moving ornaments. 

“They’re all white?” Harry offers, raising an eyebrow in confusion. 

Who would have thought that, years after defeating Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter’s task of the day would consist of helping his boyfriend choose colours for business cards? 

“By Merlin, you’re helpless,” Draco groans, but the corners of his lips are tugging up. “Come on, try. I need to decide by the time we reach the office.”

So Harry takes a closer look. To his astonishment, the colours really are different. Not by much, mind you, but a little. 

Once that challenge has been tackled, Harry follows Draco outside his flat, around the corner and slides along with him to the address in Diagon Alley Lucifer provided them with. 

If his suspension is good for one thing, it is that Harry witnesses first hand how much work flows into starting one’s own firm. The paperwork still hasn’t gone through but Lucifer didn’t expect anything else. In the meantime, Draco and he get to sort out tiny details like business card colours. 

“How did Lucifer manage to buy this property?” Draco wonders out loud when they appear in front of a large building. It is definitely one of the newer ones in Diagon Alley, at the opposite end of Gringotts and amongst other expensive shops. Harry recognises the high-end broom supplier he visits regularly. 

“Bought it as soon as I had the funds,” Lucifer supplies, having just apparated next to them. “I’ve been letting it for the past few years. Rather lucratively, I have to admit. I think we’ll keep the coffee shop, though.”

Harry follows his gaze and sees the café, bustling with customers that takes up the ground floor. 

“As long as they give us a discount,” Draco adds, making Lucifer snort. 

“I know why I chose to go into business with you, young Malfoy.”

They receive a tour of the six stories that already exist (“The structure of the building supports several more, we can expand when needed,” according to Lucifer) and Harry watches Draco as the blond takes in the large room with floor to ceiling windows that will be his office. 

“I didn’t want to spoil the fun for you, so there is no furniture yet.” 

“Oh, this is wonderful…” Draco whispers, more to himself than to anyone else. “Show us yours?”

Lucifer does. His office, including the reception desk for Natasha, is fully equipped and, as Draco explains, looks a lot like his old office at Triple M. 

When they exit, Harry notices another set of rooms. “Who’ll work there?”

Lucifer grimaces. “The head of our legal department.”

Harry knows better than to ask why the door isn’t sporting Sam’s name yet. 

They end up in the café downstairs so that Lucifer and Draco can sort out what is left to do in the following two weeks. 

“Of course, we will need to start recruiting,” Lucifer drawls, “yet I doubt it’ll be a problem to find a few workers who are able to think for themselves. Oh, and an assistant for you, Draco. Talk to Natasha, she is managing the new hires and can set up interviews for you.”

Draco’s smirk is dripping with pride. 

“Oh, and in terms of advertising…” Lucifer begins but Draco cuts in before he can make his point. 

“I doubt an ad in the Prophet will suffice?”

“No, our standards are a tad higher than that. Rita Skeeter owes me. I was thinking a large portrait in the business section. Front page.”

“With that woman?” Draco spits out and Harry is about to vehemently agree, but Lucifer holds up a hand to silence their protests. 

“She and I have reached an understanding. She will be allowed exclusive rights to the story of our new firm and she will refrain from being her usual, noisy self and leave us alone unless we give her permission not to.”

Draco crosses his arms. “I want to sign off on the last draft. No way that hag will print anything I haven’t read beforehand.”

Lucifer smirks. “That can be arranged.” He takes a sip of his tea, setting it down with an air of nonchalance Harry doesn’t trust. “Oh, and Draco? We will need to attend every public event in the foreseeable future. Fundraisers, charity functions… With your plus one would be best.”

Harry swallows, meeting Lucifer’s eye. “Is that really necessary? I wouldn’t want to, you know, steal the spot light.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Just hang on Draco’s arm and look dashing.” Lucifer winks but Harry can’t reply since his voice has vanished. 

“We’ll see,” Draco says diplomatically, one worried pair of eyes focused on him. 

Harry realises that is has been a long time since he last was out in public. Christmas, wasn’t it? Damn it, it’s almost April now. 

_You won’t be able to hide forever_ , Aphrodite’s words echo in his head. And besides, this is for Draco and his new firm. 

“We’ll do it,” Harry hears himself say and Lucifer’s face erupts in a broad smile. 

“Fantastic.”

It isn’t until later, after Draco talked with Natasha about the interviews and they are both back at Grimmauld Place that Draco speaks up. 

“Are you sure?”

Harry wants to ask what he is talking about, yet they both know that would only be him stalling. 

“Draco, I can handle a few events. I have to go to the Lycanthropy Bill thing anyway. Might as well add a few more to the list.”

His partner, of course, sees right through him, yet miraculously lets it drop in favour of pulling him in a tight hug. 

“Thank you,” Draco whispers in his ear and despite his better knowledge, Harry finds himself hoping that this will be the end of it. 

*

Saturday night finds Lucifer in his living room, open wine bottle on the coffee table and résumés spread out in front of him. 

They had run an unseemly ad in the Prophet, not specifying whom the firm belonged to, only stating that a new accounting firm was hiring. Lucifer knows exactly what he is looking for – young, dynamic, capable of thinking outside the box, Muggle friendly (they will be working with computers after all) – so sorting through the stack of parchments is not as tedious as it might have been otherwise. 

He is adding the thirteenth application to the pile he has mentally labelled “only if they grow a brain first” when there is a knock on the door. 

He hasn’t seen Sam in a full week, having decided to allow the lawyer to ride his wave of success, enjoy the job offers and the attention in the hope that he would realise there is nowhere he would rather work than at L&D. 

“Sammy, you look tanned. Have you been on holiday?” Lucifer asks with a wink. He knows fully well where Sam has been – Abbadon’s job won’t end until all Prosecutors are firmly behind bars. 

Sam pulls a face. “Not exactly.”

“Not enjoying the attention? I heard Wolfram & Hart themselves offered.”

“How did you hear that?”

“The grapevine is a talkative thing. But do come in. I would offer you oysters or kelpie steak if the kitchen weren’t already closed.”

Sam groans at the mention of food. “I swear I’m only going to eat burgers for the next month.”

“How uncultured of you,” Lucifer quips, relishing the easy banter between them and hoping it is a good sign. “What brings you to my flat, Sammy? I doubt you’re here to complain about food that costs more than some people’s homes.”

Sam sobers up, taking a deep breath and straightening as he meets Lucifer’s gaze dead on. 

“I’m here to tell you my conditions.”

Lucifer raises an expectant eyebrow. 

“I want an office of my own, a paralegal and a secretary, a contractual right to pro bono cases, the exact amount of which will be stipulated in my contract, and an annual salary of 72,000 Galleons, which is half of what most of the other firms offered me. Meet these criteria and I’m yours.”

Sam’s demeanour is confident and Lucifer doesn’t doubt for one moment that the wizard is prepared to turn his back on him and the firm should Lucifer say now. 

Right, because that would ever happen. 

Lucifer smiles. “Welcome to Milton’s and Malfoy’s Malicious Monetary Machinations, Mr Winchester.”

Sam’s shoulders relax visibly as he returns the smile. “Good. When shall I drop by to draw up a contract?”

“Stay and we’ll make it official now,” Lucifer says immediately. “I can show you your office tomorrow and you can get started with drafting everyone’s official paper works, seeing as that will be one of your jobs, too.” 

Lucifer’s eyes haven’t left Sam’s for the past minute so he notices how Sam’s become incrementally darker before he nods. 

The preliminary contract is swiftly drafted – Lucifer knows enough about the topic to do a decent job himself – and then he is handing Sam a quill with which he signs the document and finally, the extent of what just occurred hits Lucifer. 

Sam is going to be working at L&D. Sam chose him over all these other firms, over more money and prestige. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Sam glances at him, putting the quill down. 

“How do you want to celebrate?” Lucifer drawls, not even hiding the innuendo colouring his voice. 

The answering smirk he receives from Sam borders on filthy and before he can react, Lucifer has a lap full of lawyer. Sam is straddling him, one leg on either side of his hips, pressing their groins together as he covers Lucifer’s lips with his own. 

After a week of abstinence, especially after watching the explosion on Friday envelope Sam in the court room, Lucifer abandons finesse completely. He moans, inviting Sam into his mouth and begins to claw at his clothes, probably ripping the fabric in the process but neither of them cares. 

Undressing his partners manually has always been something Lucifer likes to do but in this case it would mean that Sam had to move off him and that is not going to happen if he can prevent it. Two shirts are crumpled on the floor and a flick of Lucifer’s wrist later, their remaining clothes join them there. 

Lucifer runs his hands all over Sam’s body, pinching a nipple here and licking a path up his abs there, kissing the anti-possession tattoo and nipping at his throat. 

“Open me up,” Sam orders, his voice husky and Lucifer’s cock twitches when he hears the words. 

He summons the lube from his bedroom, coats the fingers of his right hand liberally with it and reaches around the man in top of him, using the movement to press their torsos together, trapping Sam’s erection between them in the process. 

Lucifer takes his time, draws it out, massages Sam’s prostate until his cock is leaking copiously between them, until Sam runs a hand through his hair as he arches his back and grinds down, fucking himself on Lucifer’s fingers wantonly. 

Another stroke against his prostate has Sam groaning, clutching Lucifer’s shoulders but then his hands are gone, grabbing the lube off the spot next to them. He watches Sam pour lube over Lucifer’s cock, lets him do all the work, lifting up from his knees and positioning Lucifer’s erection. 

Now it is his turn to groan as Sam sinks down and takes control of their rhythm, moving hard and fast, seeking his own pleasure. The sight is one to behold and Lucifer drinks it all in, the way Sam’s muscles move under tanned and scarred skin, the way his throat works when he swallows and gasp, the way he bites his lower lip when a bout of pleasure ripples through him. 

Lucifer’s hand is still wet from opening Sam up and draws an incredible noise from him when Lucifer wraps it around Sam’s erection. It takes a few thrusts until Sam finds the right rhythm but then he loses himself in the sensations, fucking into Lucifer’s grip and grinding down on his cock until his entire body tenses and he spills his release all over Lucifer’s stomach and chest, clenching around his length and pulling him along with him over the edge. 

They are shuddering against each other, holding onto sweat-slick skin as the aftershocks course through them, Sam’s forehead resting on his shoulder. 

“I take it this means there won’t be any anti-fraternisation policy in the contracts?” Sam manages, still out of breath, a few moments later when Lucifer is flaccid again but still inside the other man because moving is overrated. 

The comment makes him bark out a laugh, which Sam promptly swallows with a lazy kiss.

No, they really won’t need that clause. 

*

Choosing furniture with Draco is less boring than Harry would have thought. Both of them are wearing glamours so no one is staring at them and the witch serving them is her usual, brisk self, slightly annoyed with Draco’s specifications and special wishes. 

Sunday morning, Draco smiles up from the letter he just opened. “Sam is officially a member of L&D. His salary is a bit steep but he earned it…”

“Surprise,” Harry replies drily. He would have bet his vault at Gringotts that no matter how outrageous his demands had been, Lucifer would have hired Sam anyway. ‘Not in a relationship’ – yeah, right. 

Dinner at Ron and Hermione’s is pleasant and whatever reservations Hermione might still have had regarding Draco instantly vanish when he announces he will attend the Gala she is hosting the following Friday. 

It is an informational event, filled with speeches about why the Lycanthrope Equal Access Bill is the right thing to vote for to raise awareness and convince a few wealthy people to donate a month before the actual fundraiser. Harry wants to go even if the risk of being bored to death is large because the cause is dear to his heart, as Hermione never fails to remind him. 

“Oh, Draco, that’s wonderful! I will put you on the guest list.”

Ron, of course, is immediately suspicious. “Why?”

“I won’t hide from the public,” is Draco’s answer, which makes Harry snort. 

“He’s working on his image.”

“So you’re only going because it’ll look good?” Ron asks, hackles obviously rising, but before Harry can soothe the waves, Hermione interrupts them. 

“Frankly, I don’t care. It’ll be good for Harry to have someone to talk to and as long as you donate, Draco, you can exploit all the events you like.”

“Oh,” Draco smirks, “money won’t be a problem.”

“Any idea what you’ll be doing with the 150,000 Galleons?” Ron snaps, not at all able to hide his bitterness. It isn’t like Ron and Hermione have financial problems; Harry knows they are both earning enough to support themselves. However, their income doesn’t allow for big leaps and thanks to their time at Hogwarts, Draco has always been the embodiment of wealth in Ron’s book. 

Draco averts his eyes. “Not quite. I’d like to help other victims; but there are so many charities which makes it hard to chose.”

“You could always start a trust fund and use the revenue to help several of them?” Hermione pitches in. “You’re an accountant so the financial management shouldn’t be a problem.”

Harry’s pulse spikes a little. He told his best friends about Draco’s and Lucifer’s plans, but Draco doesn’t know Harry let it slip. Good thing he can count on Hermione to watch what she reveals. 

Draco, meanwhile, is nodding. “That occurred to me as well. It’s a possibility.”

Thankfully, the evening passes without another jab from Ron, but that means that the weekend is almost over. 

While Harry accompanying Draco the week before was no problem, the last week of March runs a different course with Draco spending most of his time at the office, overseeing the computer installation and interviewing potential employees. 

Harry receives an account of everything that happened each night, gives advise on whom Draco should choose as his assistant-cum-secretary and learns about Charlie Bradbury, a Muggle-born with unmatched knowledge of how to combine magic with technology, who is offered a position on the spot as head of the tech department (which so far includes only her anyway). 

Being alone with nothing to do takes Harry back to a time before Draco. Before DVD nights and dinner at Muggle restaurants, before therapy. Before having Aphrodite’s questions bounce around in his head. 

Harry decides to use the time to improve the shape he is in. He adds jogging to his regiment, expands his work-out, does agility training in the basement of Grimmauld Place in the rooms with thick walls that haven’t been renovated. 

“Why don’t you go out?” Aphrodite asks Monday evening. “Stroll through Diagon Alley or look for new films in Muggle London?”

Harry feels the anger rising in his chest immediately. It’s his business if he wants to go out. He is going out all the time, with Draco. 

The thought of going out alone, though, makes Harry uncomfortable and in this regard, nothing has changed from before he knew Draco better. 

Harry considers his reflection in the bathroom mirror on Thursday morning wearily. Draco has made so much progress, even more so now that the trial is over, hasn’t felt the need to shower after an orgasm for the past week and a half. 

Compared to that much progress, Harry feels pathetic. 

He wishes his suspension were over already so that he can return to the Department, drown himself in work, feel useful again. There are still a few days left before his shifts resume and until that happens, Harry will keep working on his abilities and meet Draco for lunch at L&D. 

*

Draco is extremely busy today so he ordered in for both of them and they end up eating at Draco’s new desk with the sleek iMac G4 (at least that’s what Draco said it was). 

At one point Draco glances at the clock on the wall and gasps. “Fuck.”

Harry can’t help laughing. 

“What?”

“You’re watching too much American television, Draco.”

He waves Harry off, opening a drawer and retrieving a slip of parchment. “Could you do me a favour?”

Harry blinks at him. “What kind of favour?”

“I ordered a book and I need it today but my one o’clock will be here in five minutes. Could you drop by Flourish and Blotts and pick it up for me?” Draco smiles coyly, fluttering his lashes. 

The image would be funny if Harry weren’t too occupied with trying to get his heart rate under control. “Sure,” he croaks, accepting the parchment and the kiss on his cheek. 

It is only when Harry is out in Diagon Alley, glamour firmly in place once more, that it occurs to him that Draco might have planned this – forcing Harry out of his comfort zone, disguising it by doing him a favour. Well, Harry can ask him later. 

For now, he walks down the street until he sees the familiar shape of the bookshop. The only problem is that he needs to drop the concealment charms or else the employees will never hand him someone else’s orders. The fact that Harry and Draco are an item is public knowledge, so handing the books over to Harry Potter won’t pose a problem. 

Bloody hell, Draco really must have planned this. This has Slytherin written all over it. 

Harry terminates the glamour when he crosses the threshold of Flourish and Blotts, heart beating in his throat. 

The cashier looks up when she senses someone in front of her and her eyes widen when she takes in who it is. 

“Mr Potter! Welcome! What can I do for you?”

Harry swallows, sliding the slip or parchment over the counter. “I’m playing errand boy today,” he jokes. “Here to pick up,” he glances at the paper, “ _Counterparty credit risk and credit value adjustment?_ ” 

“Of course,” she smiles, disappearing into the back and returning a moment later with a thick tome. “It came this morning. Can I help you with anything else?”

Harry nods. “Maybe a few new publications on defensive and offensive magic?”

“Of course,” she says again, gesturing him to follow her. She presents several new works to him and Harry realises how little he paid attention to the outside world since the new year started. 

His queasiness combined with his gratitude towards the witch, Janine according to her nametag, is probably what leads to him buying nine books in total and leaving a large tip. 

“Thanks so much, Mr Potter. And give our best to Mr Malfoy, we are grateful for his patronage.”

Harry smiles, trying to ignore the curious looks other customers are shooting him, and vanishes behind the blessed anonymity of the glamour as soon as he steps out of the shop. 

All in all, that went rather well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me or was that chapter rather fluffy? Well, the boys needed it :) The next one will be substantially longer, featuring more plot and more porn. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who’s followed me on tumblr (either my [multifandom blog](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/) or my [fanfic update blog](http://jayez-fanfiction.tumblr.com/) or both), it’s greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Lucifer’s and Sam’s position was inspired by the fourth and fifth gif of [this gif set](http://this-is-my-very-porny-blog.tumblr.com/post/75203133766) here – it’s not safe for work, so mind your surroundings before clicking the link…


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L&D is ready to open its gates but of course, Michael Milton is less than pleased. Harry, meanwhile, returns to his job after four weeks of suspension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot! Therapy! Yay! And probably the most difficult sex scene I have ever written. And office sex! Srly, this is full of goodies and almost 10k in length.
> 
> Most of my knowledge about PTSD, just to make that clear again, comes from “I Can’t Get Over It – A Handbook For Trauma Survivors, 2nd Ed” written by Aphrodite Matsakis.

Rita Skeeter waltzes into L&D on Friday morning, her blond hair impeccably styled, crocodile-skin handbag clasped tightly under her arm. 

Draco won’t do her the favour of forcing a smile — Lucifer is doing enough of that for the both of them as they exchange pleasantries and ask her into Lucifer’s office. 

“Would you like some tea?” Natasha asks, polite as ever. 

“Sure, darling,” Skeeter smiles and Draco wishes looks could kill. “Now, Mr Malfoy, there’s no need for that scowl. We’re all friends here.”

“Your definition of friendship is intriguing,” Draco shoots back before Lucifer raises a placating hand. 

“Now, now, behave, Draco. She has agreed to let you approve the quotes before they are published, so don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Draco grumbles but keeps his glaring to a minimum from now on as they talk about their firm. Draco explains to Skeeter how computers work and why they chose to use them at L&D, Lucifer talks about what kind of clientele they will be catering to and that applications are always welcome since the firm definitely has expansion plans. 

“Oh, one more thing.” Skeeter smiles sweetly. “I saw on our way here that Mr Winchester is the head of your legal department. Interviewing him would add an interesting layer to the article — after the trial, everybody has been wondering where that one would end up.”

“I’ll ask him,” Lucifer supplies and a few minutes later, Sam has joined them. After all, this is good publicity despite the reservations Draco and Sam might have about the woman making it possible. 

“Now, for the picture,” Skeeter begins, already on her feet. She rearranges them several times, tries out different patterns of them standing behind, sitting at, or on the desk, Draco mostly facing the computer while Lucifer is levitating parchment and quill and Sam is towering above all of them. 

It takes an eternity until that woman is satisfied — “Front page, Mr Malfoy, that always takes more effort!” — and then she is gone from the building. 

“Thank Merlin this is over!” Draco groans, running a hand across his face. 

“I thought she’d be worse,” Sam admits, making Draco snort. 

“Well, wait until there’s a juicy scandal involving you…”

“Alright, alright,” Lucifer interrupts them, “let’s get back to work, gentlemen. This cost us enough valuable time as it is.”

When Draco notices how reluctant Sam is to leave, he hurries out of the office, giving the two of them some private time. 

*

Harry considers himself in the mirror at Grimmauld Place, wiping his sweaty palms on his dress robes and taking a deep breath.

He looks presentable, even ready for photographers that might be there, and he has no reason at all to be nervous. Draco will be with him and above everything, tonight’s event is only informational. There will be speeches, dinner, more speeches, and practically no mingling. Hermione promised him. 

So really, no reason to be nervous. 

Then why is his heart beating so fast?

“Don’t you look dashing,” Draco teases when he exits the bathroom, his hair shining and carefully styled, his dark green robes hugging his body like a second skin. The past two weeks have done him a lot of good — with the stress of the trial gone, Draco looks healthier than ever. 

“You, too.”

They share a chaste kiss that Harry desperately wants to turn filthy — it would give them an excuse not to go but, as he has been reminding himself for the past two hours, it is for an important cause and he promised he would be there. 

“Are you done fretting about tonight?” Draco asks, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“I’m fine.”

“Let’s go then, get it over with.”

Harry has no choice but to follow. 

*

The hotel ballroom where the event is being held is filled with people and usually, this would allow Harry to disappear amongst the crowd. Yet two weeks after the most reported trial Wizarding Britain has seen since the Death Eater Trials of ’98 and with Draco by his side looking this beautiful, disappearing seems impossible. 

They have survived the press outside with minimal fuss and are looking for their table — at the front with Hermione and Ron, at least that’s what the receptionist told them — when Draco freezes next to him. 

Harry follows his gaze and it lands on Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, both flawlessly groomed and equally rooted to the spot. At least, Lucius is. Narcissa, meanwhile, breaks into a wide smile and closes the distance. 

“Draco, what a positive surprise to see you here,” she says and for all Harry can tell, she means it. 

Draco’s features soften as he returns the smile and clasps her hand. “I have an image to uphold after all.”

There is an awkward moment when Draco seems undecided whether to introduce Harry or acknowledge the fact that they all are already familiar with each other. Thankfully, his mother makes the decision for him when she turns towards Harry, her friendly expression unchanged. 

“Mr Potter, what a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs Malfoy,” Harry answers, offering his and which she promptly accepts. 

By now, Lucius has joined them, looking as if doing so is causing him physical harm. To Harry, he seems as if he is eating an entire bowl of lemon drops or something equally sour. 

“Mr Potter,” he greets through gritted teeth. Harry nods at him, trying and failing to make his lips curl into a polite smile. After everything Lucius Malfoy has put Draco through, he doesn’t deserve it anyway. 

Unfazed by her husband’s icy glare, Narcissa talks on. “I was sure we would run into you here, Mr Potter. After all, you are one of this bill’s most prominent supporters.”

“I wouldn’t dare to miss it,” Harry confirms, eyes seeking Draco’s to beg for help. 

“How have you been, mother?” Draco asks, not even feigning his interest as far as Harry can tell. 

Draco and Narcissa manage a few minutes of small talk, which apparently tells Draco a lot more than it does Harry, because his boyfriend sighs after they saw the Malfoys off. 

“Mother apparently still hopes for father to apologise.”

“For hating me?”

Draco shrugs eloquently. “Maybe. Or for throwing me out. For being the reason I had to go to trial in the first place. Take your pick.”

Harry really doesn’t like the way Draco’s shoulders slump. “Cheer up, Draco. He’ll come around. Your mother seems insistent…”

“Well, if anyone can sway him, it’s her.”

They finally spot their allotted seats and rush across the ballroom floor until they are safe at their table. Hermione and Ron join them a few minutes later with the rest of the organisational committee. Hermione takes care of the introductions and thankfully, none of the witches and wizards mention the events of the last weeks.

To his surprise, Harry isn’t as bored as he feared he would be. The speeches are brief and lively, the dinner delicious. 

“You didn’t mention a goal?” Draco directs the question not just at Hermione but also at the other committee members shortly after desert. 

“Pardon?” Mr Woo blinks at him. 

“There hasn’t been mention of how much money you are trying to raise. I have been wondering.”

“Oh, that’s because we need as much as we can gather,” his wife answers for him. “Once the bill is passed, donations will be a fundamental aspect of how the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures finances the free Wolfsbane, the summer camps, and the other measures we have planned. So every Knut that remains after the campaign will be well spent in the interest of our supporters.”

Draco nods, hands sneaking into the inside pockets of his robes to where he keeps his check book and travel quill. “Good to know.”

Mr Woo has to return to the podium and open the second round of speeches, but Hermione’s eyes glance from Draco’s check book to Harry and back again while Draco, with an air of calm wealth that Harry has only ever seen members of ancient pureblood families muster, signs the check. 

“I hope this will make up for me exploiting you and the cause for my personal PR needs,” Draco drawls, clearly enjoying the moment as Hermione accepts the parchment, her eyes widening as she takes in the sum noted there. 

“Are you sure?”

“Hermione, this sum doesn’t hurt me in the slightest.”

Harry glances at Ron, whose face is a mixture of hate, anger, envy, and gratefulness once he catches his wife’s radiant smile. 

“I knew the old Draco Malfoy was still in there somewhere,” Harry teases the first chance he gets once the event wraps up, making Draco chuckle. 

“I may have changed but I’m still an obscenely rich wizard from an ancient and noble house, Harry. I should remind you of that more often.”

Draco smiles at him and Harry can’t resist brushing their lips together in a chaste kiss. 

“Very nice, boys,” Harry hears a familiar voice praise them. Lucifer is standing there, leaning casually against the wall they have been keeping close to, champagne flute in one hand, the other buried in his trouser pocket because Lucifer is actually wearing a Muggle suit. A perfectly tailored Muggle suit, but in a room filled with wizards in dress robes, it sticks out like Dumbledore’s colourful robes used to be capable of. 

“You’re doing a wonderful job — public displays of affection, sappily smiling at each other, and I already heard some talk about a sizable donation you made, Draco.”

“Well, one of us has to seem like an honourable man,” the blond quips. “Or did you bring Sam with you?”

“No, as far as the public is concerned, I’m still wallowing in the vice of my sinful lifestyle.”

They talk for a few more minutes with Lucifer drawing everyone’s attention and Harry survives conversations with several political players before he can feel his discomfort mounting. He makes his escape to the bathroom where he takes his time, inspecting the luxurious décor. 

When he exits and sets out to find Draco and Lucifer again, he almost literally runs into Narcissa Malfoy. 

“Mr Potter, please tell Mrs Granger-Weasley that she and the Department did a wonderful job,” she gushes, her hand clasping the hem of his robes and pulling him a little further to the side. 

Harry nods, a bit dazed, especially when the witch sobers up in the blink of an eye, her polite smile changing to a smaller, more genuine one. 

“And also, I wanted to thank you.”

Harry’s look must have given away that he has no idea what she is referring to, because Narcissa goes on, “For everything you did for Draco. It took him some time to tell me that he was seeing someone in the first place, above all a man. I may have been surprised that you are the one he was talking about, yet I am no less pleased. You make him happy and that is all a mother can want.”

Harry blinks, slightly overwhelmed. “Thank you,” he manages, and thankfully Narcissa takes that as her cue to leave, giving him one last smile. 

When Harry resumes his place at Draco’s side, the blond is in full business mode, explaining something about the market and selling assets to a balding wizard whose robes have diamond buttons — by the looks of it at least. 

The woman Lucifer has engaged in conversation immediately draws Harry in, talking about the bill, the campaign, and the history leading up to current events. With every sentence, Harry becomes more uncomfortable, his skin prickling. 

He reminds himself that he is here for Draco, that Draco needs to be here, needs to be seen, spoken to, noticed. 

Yet apparently Harry fails to hide his discomfort well enough for he soon feels Draco’s concerned eyes on him and five minutes later, the blond excuses them and Harry is saying goodbye to his best friends. 

“We’ll see you both Sunday for lunch at our place?” Hermione offers and Harry accepts hastily, eager to leave now that the end is in sight. 

Back at Grimmauld Place, Harry immediately puts the kettle on and takes a few deep breaths while Draco rubs soothing circles into his back. 

“I forgot the time, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I had a nice evening.” 

Draco doesn’t call him out on it, doesn’t try to talk it better, just remains a steady presence next to him as they drink their tea and Harry shakes off the unease and smothers the urge to crawl out of his skin. 

It wasn’t even a particularly stressful evening. No one talked to Harry about the war except for the last lady mentioning it in passing; no one thanked him for something he can’t take credit for in the first place. The focus was mostly on Draco… The evening shouldn’t have bothered Harry at all. 

But it did. Bloody hell, what is wrong with him? 

*

Harry is in a strange mood all weekend. He feels restless, becomes twitchy, and tries to blame it on the anticipation that comes with his return to work on Monday. 

Draco, meanwhile, is restless for an entirely different reason — come Monday morning, L&D will be officially open for business and the entire world will know about it. Or well, those who read the business section of the prophet. Lucifer received the approval for the company on Friday, so nothing stands in the way of them “revolutionising the Wizarding financial market”, as Lucifer likes to put it. 

On Saturday, Aphrodite suggests to him that Harry repeat his trip to Diagon Alley sometime soon. 

“Only going out when Draco is with you instead of not leaving your flat at all means you are replacing one coping mechanism with another. As hard as it is, you need to force yourself in situations like these if you want to make progress.”

_What if I don’t want to make progress?_ is what Harry decidedly doesn’t say. He nods and that afternoon, after two hours of flying and agility training while Draco is making sure his office and all the paperwork is in order, Harry sets out to Diagon Alley.

Despite his glamour he feels self-conscious, bothered by every glance passer-by spare him. It can’t have been more than a few minutes until Harry reaches his destination but to him it seems like a lifetime. 

Just like the last time, Harry drops the concealment charms when he steps over the threshold of Quirin’s Custom Quills, anticipating the gasp that sounds from the register where a young man is filling out that day’s crossword puzzle in the Prophet. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” the man greets him hurriedly, “how can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a quill.”

“You’ve certainly come to the right place,” the vendor quips and then immediately adds, “I mean, we are a quill shop! So I can definitely help you out there — sir.” He clears his throat, blushing slightly, and Harry can’t resist a smile. “What kind of quill are you looking for?”

“Something special. It’s a gift.”

“What do you want the gift to say?” 

Harry blinks. “Uh… I don’t know?”

“Well,” the man — his name tag identifies him as Darin — begins, “we have a large variety of exquisite quills, yet which one is the perfect one for you depends on whom you intend to present it with. This one,” he says animatedly, indicating a quill in regal blue with small golden threads, “would be adequate for a business partner, or someone else you are in a professional relationship with. This section, on the other hand,” Darin continues, walking across the room to an aisle decorated in pastel colours, “is dedicated to more romantic gifts. But even there you can choose from an array of options, from classic and minimalistic to, well, right out sappy.”

Darin looks at Harry expectantly. 

“Uh,” he says again. He really didn’t think too much about this. “It’s for my partner,” he admits hesitantly, gouging Darin’s reaction, but the vendor’s smile only brightens, “but it is supposed to be practical. Impress potential clients, you know…”

Harry has no idea if that made sense but he can’t really tell Darin about L&D and that Harry wants Draco to have something in his office to remind him of Harry and is useful at the same time. 

Darin, apparently, attended a special seminar where he learned to understand the less eloquent of his customers. He shows Harry several quills, points out the pros and the cons, until Harry spots one in blue and green and instantly knows he found the perfect present. 

Darin rings up his order, thanking him profusely when Harry leaves a big tip. He is almost out of the door again when the man calls him back. 

“Mr Potter?”

Harry turns around finds the wizard biting his lower lip nervously. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to tell you, I mean if it’s not too forward… You have been a great inspiration to me — and not because you killed You-Know-Who, even though that was brilliant, don’t get me wrong,” he adds in a hurry and Harry can feel his brows furrow in confusion. “But as, well, as a fellow gay wizard. You coming out gave me the courage to finally introduce my family to my partner and… I would’ve probably chickened out of it for another few years if it hadn’t been for you and Mr Malfoy. So, yes, thank you.”

Harry is almost speechless, barely managing to produce a “Not at all, you’re welcome,” before finally leaving the shop. He is so taken aback that he even forgets to readjust the glamour and ends up giving an autograph to a small girl who recognised him and tore away from her parents. 

It is a very strange afternoon. 

*

The weekend passes much too quickly for Draco’s liking. True, he is looking forward to Monday yet he would be lying if he denied feeling any anxiety. 

Lucifer was very content with the coverage the Lycanthrope Bill event received. Given the scandals of the past month, the Prophet and several other newspapers printed pictures of Draco and Harry as well as of Lucifer. 

Saturday night finds Harry and Draco on Jo’s sofa, drinking whisky and watching a comedy that Draco even understands most of. Before he knows it, Sunday has arrived, which means Harry and he are spending lunch with Hermione and Ron. Especially now that Draco is on his way to regaining a respected position in society, the lunch fills him with a peculiar feeling. 

He is spending most of his free time with people he used to antagonise in school. How many times had he called Hermione a Mudblood? How often had he bullied Ron and his family because of being poor and Muggle-lovers? 

Of course, that was a time before the war, before the internship at Triple M, before fleeing the cafeteria in favour of Muggle coffee shops, before the rape and befriending Jo and Emerson. 

Whoever said that people don’t change had it very, very wrong… Draco included. 

A few months ago, he thought he would never get better, that he would remain jumpy and riddled with PTSD for the rest of his life, that Stewart broke him after all — and look how wrong that assumption was. 

So this evening, Draco is going to aim for yet another change. He has been considering the idea for a few days now without ever mentioning it to Aphrodite. His plan is too intimate to even mention it to his psychiatrist, apparently. 

Draco manages to sit through an entire episode of Buffy (Harry suggested they try the show after they caught an episode of the latest season on TV; Draco’s not too sure whether he likes it or not). Well, patience has never been Draco’s best quality.

“Harry?” he says softly, waiting until his partner is looking at him. “I want to try something.”

“Yes?”

“Not here.” Draco smirks, rising from the sofa and leading Harry to the bedroom. Draco thought about this a lot, considered the where and how and what to do if Harry wasn’t ready for whatever reason. 

“What’s going on?” Harry asks when Draco is straddling his hips, his thumbs stroking Harry’s jaw while his hands hold onto his neck. 

Draco licks his lips and catches Harry tracking the movement with his eyes. 

“I want you to shag me.”

Harry’s eyes widen and go instantly dark. “You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, Potter,” Draco snaps but it is more playful than anything else. 

“How do you want me?”

“I want to see you,” Draco whispers, kissing his way down Harry’s throat, feeling the pulse underneath his tongue quicken. “And I want you to take your time, prepare me well, and then I want you to fuck me.” His voice has dipped low, a shudder running down his spine and up again when he hears Harry groan. 

“Bloody hell, yes…”

Harry does take it slow, starting them off with languid snogging before he unbuttons Draco’s shirt almost lazily. When he shifts in Harry’s lap, though, Draco can feel his erections through the fabric of their trousers. 

Draco feels his own cock twitch and decides that this amount of foreplay was more than enough. He shuffles down until he isn’t on Harry anymore and makes quick work of the rest of his clothes. 

“What happened to ‘taking our time’?”

“I’ve waited long enough,” Draco growls, shucking his trousers and taking care of Harry’s clothes when the Boy Who Was Slow On The Uptake still hasn’t moved. 

Seeing Harry blush, completely naked, his hard length resting between his legs, makes Draco groan. 

“Come one, Potter.”

“You’re extra bossy tonight.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, so excuse me if my patience is running out now that we’re finally here.”

He sees Harry’s expression change and from one moment to the next, Harry has flipped them over, is now on top of Draco and — there is no other word for what he is doing — ravishing his mouth. 

Weeks ago, this would have sent Draco into a panic, but tonight it makes him gasp, arching his body off the mattress, seeking friction. 

“Lube or magic?” Harry asks, breath ragged. 

“I want to feel your fingers inside me,” Draco purrs and takes pride in the wanton moan he elicits and the speed with which Harry scrambles for the supplies in the nightstand drawer. 

And then there is a slicked finger circling his entrance. Draco moves his legs further apart, giving Harry more room, getting used to the feeling and focussing on Harry, not on the memories he associates with the sensation. 

“Ready?”

He nods and Harry pushes in, breaching the ring of muscle and waiting, giving Draco time to adjust before he moves, in and out, slowly building up a rhythm. Draco watches Harry watching him, wonders what he looks like from Harry’s point of view and gasps when Harry crooks his finger and brushes against Draco’s prostate. 

From that moment on, it seems like Harry is on a mission to reduce Draco to a whimpering mess with just his fingers alone. Draco has forgotten how brilliant this feels and the pleasure blinds out everything else unrelated to the situation at hand. 

He doesn’t even notice the second finger until Harry adds a third and licks a path up Draco’s cock, which is leaking precome against his stomach. 

Harry works him open as thorough as possible with four fingers while his tongue is working Draco’s slit, just teasing but not enough to bring Draco to the edge. 

“Harry,” Draco moans, “it’s enough, do it already!” Because if the man holds out any longer, Draco will come from the prostate stimulation alone before they reach the main course and Draco wants to savour every moment of tonight.

Harry obeys quickly, repositioning himself on the bed and gripping his cock. He doesn’t ask again if Draco is ready but he never breaks eye contact as he aligns himself. 

Draco nods breathlessly and that’s it. Harry pushes in slowly, obviously relishing every inch and Draco remembers that this is Harry’s first time being on top. The familiar thrill of being Harry’s first courses through him and Draco, bold now, closes his legs around Harry’s waist and pulls him closer, driving his erection in deeper until Harry bottoms out with a guttural moan. 

“How’s it feel?” Draco asks breathlessly. 

“Tight… Wonderful,” Harry pants, resting his forehead on Draco’s shoulder for a moment. 

“It’s supposed to be even better when you move.”

That earns him a low chuckle but Harry listens, pulling out a bit and pushing back in, experimenting with speed, force and angle, and Draco loves every second of it. This is Harry Potter at his best, improvising under unfamiliar circumstances, giving him all he has. 

Soon, Harry is snapping his hips rapidly and once he finds Draco’s prostate again, he doesn’t let up, sending wave after wave of pleasure through Draco’s body, making him twitch, keen, and moan, clutching Harry’s back, pressing close until their torsos touch. It adds delicious friction where Draco’s cock is trapped between them and all too soon, Draco feels the pleasure build low in his stomach. 

“Fuck,” he curses, crushing their mouths together in an uncoordinated kiss, one hand buried in Harry’s hair and then Draco is gone, practically seeing stars as he comes harder than he thinks he ever has. 

Shouting his name, Harry follows him right over the edge, spilling his release inside of him. He still has enough presence of mind to catch himself on his elbows and not fall onto Draco but Draco’s mind is too fuzzy, clouded, pleasantly veiled in post-coital bliss to care. 

Harry pulls out gently and collapses onto the mattress. Draco can see lidded green eyes looking back at him from underneath dark lashes. 

“Wow.”

“Eloquent as ever,” Draco manages. There is something he can only describe as giddiness spreading through his chest, making the widest smile bloom on his lips. He probably looks like a lunatic but he is so beyond caring. 

“Shut up, Draco.”

“Make me?” Harry protests with a noise. “Because you know how talkative I can be after brilliant orgasms.”

His partner groans and props himself up on his elbow, capturing Draco’s lips in a kiss that feels light and heavy at the same time. 

They both know what kind of breakthrough they just shared, what milestone this is for Draco, but it says everything that neither of them feel the need to acknowledge it out loud. 

Draco can feel it, though — in the way Harry’s fingers dance over his skin, in every lick of his tongue. 

The snogging dies down to occasional kisses until Draco hums contentedly and cleans both of them up with a flick of his wrist. 

Harry cocks his head when Draco grabs the blanket, his questioning look morphing into a wide smile when he realises that Draco is not, in fact, hurrying off to the shower but instead is staying right here, in the bed, with his head in the crook of Harry’s neck and an arm flung across his chest. 

Draco breathes in the scent of sex and sweat that is so uniquely Harry that it can’t be anything else and smiles against his skin. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, already half-asleep. 

He believes he hears Harry say it back just before he drifts off for good. 

*

“It’s late.”

Lucifer looks up from his desk to find Sam standing in the doorway, illuminated from the light in the room behind him. 

“I know. I can read the clock, mind you.”

“Why’re you still here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Lucifer risks a smirk, allowing his eyes to take in the man in front of him, from the broad shoulders, to his long hair, and sharp cheekbones. 

“Just making sure everything’s in order for tomorrow.” Sam takes a step towards the desk, then another. 

“And? Is it?”

Sam nods, now right in front of where Lucifer is preparing documents, but other than that, he remains quiet. Only his eyes — Lucifer can feel them on his neck where he loosened his robes and exposes a sliver of skin in the process. 

“My, my, Mr Winchester, it looks like you are trying to seduce me.”

Sam’s answer is a tentative smile that widens when Lucifer leans back in his chair, granting the other man a good look. While they might have ended up shagging each other stupid on every available surface in both Sam’s and Lucifer’s flat over the course of the past week, they have yet to christen the office. 

Maybe Sam thinks it is off limits… Oh, proving him wrong will be a pleasure. 

“Come here,” Lucifer purrs and, though hesitantly, Sam rounds the desk and leans against it after Lucifer has moved slightly out of the way. This means that Sam is positioned between Lucifer’s legs and if he interprets Sam’s expression correctly, the lawyer not only knows it but also enjoys it. 

For a while, they are both silent, merely observing the other. Lucifer watches how Sam’s throat works when he swallows, imagines to be the cause of the motion because he comes in Sam’s mouth, imagines winding a hand through Sam’s hair and pulling firmly, making the man gasp… So many possibilities, only one first time in the office. 

Lucifer can feel his cock stiffen and a glance at Sam’s groin assures him he is not the only one who can feel the tension. This time, however, Sam is waiting, is relinquishing control to Lucifer. He guesses that makes sense — his office, his rules. 

He rises to his feet and pushes the chair back until it hits the shelf behind him, then steps close. Their bodies are a hair width apart, not quite touching but close enough to feel the other’s body heat. 

“Turn around,” Lucifer orders and watches Sam’s eyes grow dark seconds before he obeys. He closes the distance, pushing his groin against Sam’s arse and his chest against the solid planes of his back. 

“Bend over,” he whispers against Sam’s ear and the command sends a shiver down his spine. “Grip the edge with both hands for support. You’ll need it.”

Lucifer doesn’t step back immediately. Instead, he rubs his erection against the swell of Sam’s arse, a tantalising promise of what is to come, while running his hands over Sam’s clothed torso. He could have the man undressed in a heartbeat but that’s not what Lucifer wants tonight. 

All he does is sneak his hands to Sam’s belt, unbuckling it and pushing the trousers down along with the pants in one quick movement. He nudges Sam’s feet wider apart and then slides to his knees onto the plush carpet he bought with exactly this in mind. 

Sam inhales sharply at the first swipe of Lucifer’s tongue over his entrance, tight ring of muscle fluttering in anticipation. He makes it quick and dirty, circling Sam’s hole two, three times before dipping his tongue inside, mapping his body, drinking in the taste. He pulls his cheeks further apart to gain more room and sets to work, fucking Sam with his tongue until the man is rocking back into his face, his breath coming in gasps. 

Lucifer inserts a finger next to his tongue, finally able to reach Sam’s prostate and make him yelp and arch his back. Lucifer lets his fingers do all the work while his tongue finds Sam’s balls and he sucks them into his mouth gently until the man above him makes a sound that escapes description and has Lucifer’s cock throb. 

After that, what little patience he had is out the window and Lucifer is back on his feet immediately, hands abandoning Sam’s arse in favour of his zip and fly. A moment later, he is pressing in, plastering himself all over Sam’s back and fully sheathed with a deep roll of his hips. 

“Fuck,” Sam groans. His arms are starting to shake from the effort of bracing himself. 

“Those are vital documents, Sammy,” Lucifer cautions, “don’t you dare collapse onto that desk, you hear me?”

Sam manages a nod but it suffices. Lucifer starts moving, drawing back until only the head of his cock is inside of Sam, then slams back home. The force of his thrusts makes the desk rattle and just like Lucifer imagined, a hand in Sam’s hair has the man arch his back, his noises somewhere between pain and pleasure. 

Lucifer adjust the angle until Sam whines and then keeps at it, wrapping a hand around Sam’s cock for him to fuck into and soon, Sam is doing most of the work, moving back and forth at a rapid pace, single-mindedly seeking his own pleasure while Lucifer’s grip on his hair reminds him of exactly who is in control right now. 

Sam comes with a shout, spilling his semen onto the carpet and losing what little strength he had in his arms but Lucifer anticipates it and pulls the man against his chest, holding him upright while he fucks up into the tight heat, riding Sam through the aftershocks until he, too, growls into Sam’s ear, finding release. 

Lucifer has enough brain function left to walk them back a little until he can lower both of them into his desk chair. Sam’s head rolls back until it rests on his shoulder while they get their breathing under control again. 

He is tempted to stay like that for the rest of the night, but Lucifer knows that if Sam doesn’t get off of him now, pulling out will actually hurt and well, while having 200 pounds of hot lawyer draped over him might feel good now, it won’t when it starts to impede the blood flow to his extremities. 

“Come on, move.”

Sam grumbles but blinks his eyes open before he does as told and tucks himself back in. 

“Sorry about your carpet,” Sam says when he notices the white stain. 

“If only there were such a thing as a cleaning spell,” Lucifer drawls and receives a kick in the shin for his trouble. 

Sam is smiling though, and besides, it didn’t actually hurt. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, I will be the one making economic history.” 

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Sam tells him before he slips out the door, leaving Lucifer to deal with the parchments on his desk that are only in slight disarray. 

And covered in drops of precome. Lucifer dissolves into ridiculous laughter that, thank Merlin, no one is around to hear. 

*

On his first day of work after the suspension, Harry is awake at an indecent hour and already at breakfast when Draco emerges from the bedroom, hair still damp from the shower. 

Harry kisses him good-morning and then clears his throat, unable to hide his smile as he looks back down at this day’s Prophet. 

“ _The past two weeks following the rape trial he won against Allan Jones, who is now serving a life time sentence in Azkaban, have certainly done the blond wizard some good_ ,” Harry reads aloud. The way Draco freezes with his tea halfway between his lips and the saucer is incredibly amusing. “ _His confident smile and proficient attitude are going to disband any rumours still persisting about his mental instability very quickly._ ” 

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, you’re the only one who’s allowed to read newspaper articles out loud?”

“What, is this some kind of delayed revenge for our time at Hogwarts?” Draco asks, scandalised, but he is nowhere near angry. Maybe not even annoyed. However, Harry doesn’t let him snatch the paper away from him. He ducks out under Draco’s arm and flees into the living room, quickly scanning the article for his favourite part. 

“ _In person, Winchester is a tall, broad-shouldered dream of a man with big brown eyes that can melt every judge’s heart. But don’t let the adorable exterior and his mere five years of experience foul you —_ ”

“You’re pulling my leg, Potter, Skeeter didn’t write that!”

“I thought you read it before?”

“Only my parts, and for the record, the first one you read was actually a lot worse before I had a say in it,” Draco scoffs, finally managing to pluck the Prophet out of Harry’s hands. 

Harry watches his boyfriend read the lines for himself and burst into laughter. 

“I’m taking this with me, this is blackmail-worthy.”

“Oi, I wanted to keep that; the pictures are great —”

“Don’t you have your own copy at Grimmauld Place?”

“Yeah, but I was going to head right into work —”

“My newspaper, Harry —”

“Come on —” 

But whatever counter argument Harry had at the ready is mute when Draco smothers him with a kiss and whispers, “We need to repeat what we did last night,” into Harry’s ear. 

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Draco purrs, kissing Harry’s neck. “But not now. I have to finish breakfast and leave for work — and you do, too.”

Harry smiles, cocking an eyebrow. “Maybe tonight? We’ll see how it goes.”

Draco nods and releases Harry, yet not without making sure to keep the paper in a firm grip. 

When the dishes are in the sink and they are both almost about to leave, Harry pulls his present for Draco out of his coat where he hid it. 

“Here, to celebrate your first day.”

Draco kisses him again before unwrapping it and then snogs him once more when he sees the quill. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Wanted you to have something that reminded you of me while you’re at the office,” Harry admits, which earns him a playful punch in the arm. 

“Be careful, Potter, the romantic lunatic in you is showing.”

“I can take it back, you know,” Harry teased but Draco shakes his head, fully aware that Harry wouldn’t anyway. 

The morning of domestic bliss does wonders for Harry’s nerves and by the time he reaches the Auror Department (with his own copy of the Prophet in his pocket, all right), he is almost calm. 

That is, until Robards intercepts him on his way to his and Ron’s office. 

“Welcome back, Potter.”

“Glad to be, sir.”

“I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen.” Harry actually missed how straightforward his boss always is. “I hope you’re grateful that all you got was a suspension and that from now on, you’re going to keep your shite together. No more shouting at rookies, no more beating suspects to a pulp. I’m not going to head this department forever and we all know who the Minister wants to see in my chair next.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Harry swears solemnly and actually means it. Head of the Auror Department is something he dreams about when he allows himself to and with Draco being a successful self-made businessman Harry has found himself thinking about it more and more lately. 

Robards considers him intently for a moment and then, apparently satisfied, sends him off to chase down leads in the Prosecutor case with Ron. 

They fall back into their routine quickly. They have always made a great team but Auror training honed their abilities even more, turning them into a force to be reckoned with. 

It feels great to be back. 

*

Draco apparates right into the foyer of L&D at 7.45 am, early enough so he can torture Sam with the article before the staff meeting. 

“Good morning, Mr Malfoy,” his assistant-cum-secretary greets him chipper as usual, “I have the files you requested and tea!”

If Draco were feeling sentimental, he would say it was professional love at first sight. Shane Hunnam, with his gangly limbs and inability to sit still, is witty, thinks quickly on his feet, has organisational skills bordering on OCD and knows his way around computers better than most Muggles. Draco is glad he interviewed the boy — because he is a boy, just back from a vacation after graduating from Hogwarts, which he attended on scholarship since he is not only Muggle-born but also poor as a pixie. 

At the interview, Shane was wearing a rented suit, a little too big for him and shabby enough to make Draco cringe. It might or might not have prompted Draco to throw a signing bonus at him with strict instructions to spend it on clothes suitable for the office. 

A bonus of which he made obvious use — L&D doesn’t have a strict dress code so the slim-fitting slacks, colourful shirt, and unbuttoned jacket are perfectly adequate.

“Thanks, any messages yet?”

“An owl from your mother with a card congratulating you on your success, or at least that’s what I think it’ll say, not that I read your private mail,” Shane amends quickly, “as well as a few others but the majority will probably arrive later.”

“I’ll be in Lucifer’s office then.” Draco is already walking off when he adds, “Don’t let the birds bite you.” 

“That was one time!” the boy calls after him and Draco is chuckling when he steps into Lucifer’s rooms, where he greets Natasha and then slips into the meeting room. It is basically an extension of the outer office but with magical dash panels that appear when needed. Today, there are snacks and refreshments flying about everywhere, which is slightly annoying, but when Draco glimpses the donuts on the table, Draco can’t help but grin in a moment of nostalgia. 

Sam flushes an interesting shade of red when Draco greets him by reciting the article, and mutters something about “supposed to be serious journalism” but his words are lost when the others arrive. 

The most striking of them all must be Janiqua Okar, whose braided hair is accentuated with colourful highlights. She is one of the many former HARC employees who left the firm after the scandal broke and is now Sam’s paralegal. 

Daphne Wilson used to be a rising star at Cyprus’s until she left to start a family and when she wanted to return to work, the firm was too satisfied with her replacement to make room for her again. She is a brilliant accountant, though, so Lucifer swept her up in a heartbeat. 

Then there is Albert Lowsley, single father of two and at 35 the oldest member of their team save Lucifer himself, as well as Diane Peterson, stolen from a rivalling accounting firm where she didn’t feel challenged enough to stay, and Charlie Bradbury, carrying her laptop as if it were an extension of her body. 

Last but not least, Grisela enters — a goblin who owes Lucifer, yet for what, Draco is not entirely clear on. She used to be Lucifer’s Gringotts liaison at Triple M and decided to part ways with the rest of the Miltons when Lucifer did, opting to follow him into entrepreneurship. Having her on the team is great since she has the authority to enter the vaults of their clients and move assets. 

Of course, several others are being held on retainer in case L&D needs to hire new employees quickly. 

“Today’s the day,” Lucifer intones solemnly. “The most important work is done so we can concentrate on winning new clients over the next three days. Remember to smile and your allowances to cut special deals for the rich and interested.”

They go over everyone’s tasks and then disband. Draco sets his new quill down on his desk and opens his mail. To his surprise, there is even a card from Professor McGonagall amongst them, congratulating him on this “outstanding career move”. 

The morning rushes past. Apparently, a three page spread in the Prophet’s business section works like a summoning charm and their office quickly fills with people, both potential customers and witches and wizards who only want to gawk at the computers and see how they work. 

Charlie is definitely the most wanted today. Good thing that she loves technology as much as Sam loves the law. 

The most surprising visitor comes in the form of a tall redhead, wearing robes with the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes logo on the front and actually smiling at Draco when he sees him in the lobby, where he is waiting for a chance to dazzle visitors and weed out potential customers for his colleagues and himself to butter up and hopefully woo. 

“Mr Weasley, welcome to L&D,” Draco greets the twin who accepts his handshake without hesitation. 

“Well, after such a favourable article and with you dating our most prominent investor, I thought I’d take a look.”

Right, Harry mentioned his involvement with the joke shop. “In that case, let me show you around. Are you dissatisfied with your current accountant?”

George shrugs. “We’ve been with them since we started; back then it was the cheapest option. They’re doing their job but if we can afford more, why be stingy?”

“Especially when you can turn even more profit with a firm who knows the ins and outs of the market,” Draco supplies, leading the wizard through the hallways.

Draco Malfoy, toadying up to a Weasley. What has the world come to? 

“Would you like a demonstration?” Draco asks when he sees George eyeing the computer in Draco’s office but the man waves him off. 

“Oh no, my wife has one, too.”

“You married Angelina Johnson, if I remember correctly?”

George nods. “She’s also six months pregnant.” 

Draco answers with an award-winning smile. “All the more reason to seek a profit with your business,” he says and goes over the available options.

An hour later, George is signing a preliminary contract, stipulating that L&D takes it all from here, including terminating the agreement with Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes soon-to-be-former firm. 

“Did we just solicit a new client?” Lucifer asks when he sees Draco and George part ways. 

“And a client we can effectively exploit for publicity on top of that.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

“Cut a special deal in exchange for free Weasley products to hand out to the nosy children of our clients and the right to publicly state they hired us.”

Lucifer’s eyes sparkle. “Well done, Draco.”

The praise makes his chest swell a bit with pride but before it can go to his head, an elderly lady in sweeping robes whisks him away and Draco has to work his charm again. 

*

Once things die down a little around one, Sam wanders in Lucifer’s office, collapsing into one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

“Why? Why did she have to write that?”

Lucifer chuckles because Sam looks genuinely done with the world after spending all day being doted on by visitors, witches and wizards alike. 

“You have to admit it drew a crowd.”

“None of who I managed to get to sign with us,” he grumbles. 

“But they left happy. It’s not all about gaining clients, Sammy. Building up a favourable public opinion is also important.”

“Which we should do with our work, not with my dreamy hair!” 

“You’ve got to admit, it is dreamy.”

The bitch face Lucifer finds himself at the receiving end of is epic to say the least. 

Just then, Natasha enters. “Sharon just firecalled — Michael is finally on his way here.”

_Perfect_. “Do not let him into my office before I come out, understood?”

Natasha nods and closes the door behind her. Sam, meanwhile, raises a questioning eyebrow. 

“Sharon is Michael’s secretary and apparently Natasha’s ‘BFF’ or whatever the kids are calling it these days. Women’s friendships elude me.”

“And why can’t she let him in?”

Lucifer stand up and walks around his desk, turning Sam’s chair around with wandless magic so those brown eyes remain fixed on him. 

“It will take Michael approximately four minutes to go from his office or wherever he was to the nearest floo and reach our lobby and probably another three to five minutes until he locates my office.” Lucifer comes half-circle, now looking down at Sam who is still sprawled in the chair. “I was wondering if I could make you come before he gets here.”

“Fuck,” is all Sam has time to say before Lucifer is on his knees on the — newly cleaned — carpet and sucking Sam’s still soft cock into his mouth. 

Lucifer draws it out on purpose, yet when Sam notices it only makes him moan louder, thrusting up into the mouth wrapped around his erection. And since Lucifer’s office walls do exactly what he wants them to do, no one outside hears or sees what is going on inside, but they can very well hear the moment Michael arrives on scene. 

“I’m afraid I can’t let you in to see Mr Milton without an appointment,” Natasha says. Sam cock twitches against Lucifer’s tongue. 

“Were you in on this, Natasha?” Michael’s tone is scathing, dripping with anger. “Of course you were. Just you wait until I’ve dragged your boss through corporate court!”

“Sir, I can’t let you in,” Natasha insists and just then, Sam comes down Lucifer’s throat. Lucifer is on his feet immediately, licking his lips, and patting the layer’s flushed cheeks. 

“Up and at ‘em, Sammy,” he says in his best rendition of an American accent, “time to meet the family.” 

On the outside, Lucifer maintains a calm exterior but on the inside, he is doubling over with laughter. Oh, he can’t wait to see the look on Michael’s face. 

“This is a bad time —” he hears Natasha tell his brother, but then he opens his office doors, registering the sound of a zipper being closed in the background. 

“Nonsense,” Lucifer greets the wizard, “this is a perfect time.” He grins broadly because footsteps tell him that Sam is joining the party as well. “Michael, brother dear, you came earlier than expected. A lot of that going around today,” he adds while directing a wink at Sam, fully aware of what his lips must look like. 

Sam merely rolls his eyes, having apparently resigned himself to suffer in silence and play along while Michael is positively scandalised. 

“And you took WINCHESTER — this is preposterous! How long’ve you been planning this, Lucifer?!”

“Some time, now.”

“You can’t do this!”

“Oh, I certainly can. Mr Winchester, if you would?” Lucifer motions for Sam to pitch in and it only takes the man a moment to switch from shagged-out to lawyer-mode. 

“As Mr Milton and I were just discussing,” Lucifer snorts and receives a pointed cough for his troubles, “nothing we did is against the law. You fired all of L&D’s employees, thus rendering the non-compete clause in our contracts mute. You can certainly try dragging us through court but I guarantee you right now, Mr Milton, that we will not only defeat you; we will destroy you.”

Michael glares for a second or two before changing tactics. 

“How is your firm’s non-fraternisation policy?” he asks icily. 

“Non-existent,” Sam supplies evenly. 

“How about rules against sexual harassment?”

“Standard regulations but you know, it isn’t classified as harassment if both parties are willing participants.”

“Or very eager and very willing participants,” Lucifer chirps, taking immense pleasure in the furious blush colouring his brother’s cheeks. “Any other questions?”

There is a moment when Lucifer thinks Michael will explode something since they can feel his magic try and lash out yet the oldest of the Milton sons always had more control than that. 

Without another word, Michael turns on his heels and storms off and once he is out of earshot, both Lucifer and Sam burst into uncontrolled laughter.

That went even more perfect than anything Lucifer could ever have imagined.

*

After an exhausting but rewarding day at work and getting back into his usual exercise routine, Harry is in an incredibly good mood when he reaches Aphrodite’s office. 

However, it doesn’t last long. 

“I’d like to talk about Sirius Black.”

Harry squares his jaw. _Good for you, Aphrodite._ “Why?” he grits out. 

But he knows why, he is fully aware of having dodged dealing with his own issues during the past weeks, ignoring it in favour of Draco’s problems. 

“He was an important figure in your life and his death affects you until this day.”

“Of course it does!” 

“I meant in a way beyond usual grieving. I’m referring to the guilt you are carrying around with you. We were working on it before the trial started and decided to ignore it.”

“Why can’t I keep ignoring it?” He is being unreasonable, he is well aware of that. Yet while he may still think about Sirius on a daily basis, he is not prepared to talk about him. 

“Do you want to be able to attend galas and functions without panicking? Do you want to accompany Draco to such events and not worry about it days beforehand?”

Harry grumbles his assent. 

“You can only reach that goal if you tackle your PTSD. I’m not saying it will be quick —”

“I got that, actually, since we’ve been meeting for months now —”

“But you have to work with me, Harry, not against me. I understand that the topic is a sore one for you. Avoiding it won’t make it go away. If it were Draco instead of you, wouldn’t you be telling him the exact same thing?”

Harry doesn’t have an answer for that. He shrugs, waiting for her next question. 

“So let’s talk about Sirius.”

“I guess you don’t mean that night in third year?”

“No. I’m referring to the night at the Department of Mysteries.”

Of course she does. Harry shifts in his chair, which is suddenly a lot less comfortable than usually. He knows what Aphrodite wants, so he relates the story of that night again, in every detail he can think of, ending with him chasing after Bellatrix and attempting to use the Cruciatus Curse. 

“What actions do you blame yourself for, Harry?”

“Sirius’s death.” Harry’s chest has tightened during his speech and he can feel his eyes burning. It has been years, seven in fact, and the thought of that moment alone, when his godfather fell through the veil, is enough to make him emotional. 

“You said previously that it’s your fault. Why?”

“I should have known better!” Harry snaps but the doctor isn’t rattled. 

“What should you have known?”

“That it was a trap! I should have just thought for a moment instead of barging into the Ministry!”

“And if you had had a moment, how could you have known?”

“It was Voldemort, I should have known he’d try to trick me —”

“But didn’t all your other visions come true? Didn’t one of them enable you to save Mr Weasley’s life?”

“Yeah, but Voldemort wasn’t aware of the connection then! I should have realised that he’d find out, that he’d exploit it and manipulate me!”

“You were 15 years old, Harry.”

“You say that like it excuses anything!” Harry replies hotly. “I’d beaten Voldemort three times by then and watched him return. I should’ve been ready! If Dumbledore could’ve just been bloody honest with me, I’d have known!”

“So Dumbledore is partly to blame?”

That brings Harry up short. 

“And don’t you think Severus Snape shoulders part of it as well? After all, he could have given you a sign that he would look into the matter.”

“Voldemort wanted me and he would have don- he did do everything he could think of.”

His own words hit Harry like a Stunning spell. Aphrodite smiles briefly at him before she speaks again. 

“And that, Harry, is the bigger picture. Let me tell you something about Muggle soldiers. They have their fair share of survivor’s guilt, no matter the situation. But even when their actions actually led to someone else being hurt, because they made a mistake or a lapse in judgement, they have to realise two things. For one, in situations of high stress, the human mind reacts differently. You have three basic options – fight, flight, or freeze. You see, the thing you wished you had done that night, “stop and reason slowly and carefully”, is not one of these options. And even if you do fight, you don’t perceive the world like you would normally. Muggle psychiatrists have conducted studies that prove that the brain works differently during traumatic situations. That’s one thing you need to understand. And the other refers to the bigger picture. You see, even if a Muggle soldier shot the bullet that accidentally hit his own comrade, it is war, not the warrior that creates the chaos and confusion that leads to such accidents.”

Harry takes a minute to process all this, mulling over her phrases in his head and trying to make the connection to his own situation she is trying to get him to make. 

It dawns slowly on him, and even then he can’t believe it. 

“You mean that I shouldn’t blame myself but Voldemort and the war for Sirius’ death.”

“For all of them, Harry. All of them. You acted very well within the situations that were thrust upon you — you did,” she insists at Harry’s noise of protest, “or you wouldn’t be alive and sane today. But a war like that, how other people chose to act, if they opt for fight or flight — that is beyond your control.”

Harry tries to counter her argument yet the words won’t come to him. 

“And even though all that makes sense, you are allowed to feel guilty. You won’t be rid of that feeling so quickly. Don’t be ashamed of your feelings, Harry, but accept them, even though they may not seem logical to others.”

Pushed further beyond his comfort zone than ever before, Harry glances at the clock and thanks Merlin and all the gods there might be that his hour is finally up. 

He has to get home, onto a broom and think for the next few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Harry… *hugs-him-tightly* And for the record, Draco, Buffy is awesome and any other opinion is invalid.  
> Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I’m really proud of it! Slight warning – the next chapter might not be ready within a week… but I’ll rather make it good than push for it to be finished. Anyway, only two chapters more to go – can’t believe it’s drawing to an end…
> 
> And for those who are interested, a few notes about my plans after finishing this: I’ll return to Virus! And complete the Timestamps of this verse; I owe Dean and Cas a plot line^^ And simultaneously I hope to finish the next chapter of my Johnlock Omegaverse at some point. And theeeen there’s a Destiel Tumblr AU which I have already hashed out and partly written and another two Draco/Harry stories in the making (also already partly written). You ain’t getting rid of me any time soon, I guess :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes a profound decision and Draco is invited to his first Weasley family dinner. Oh, Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while longer! My Muse was bitchy for a few days and I also had to finish [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1652285) Destiel High School AU for my Tumblr giveaway. But here it is, the second last chapter! 
> 
> (on a side note, people really only say “do you reckon” in Texas? I was unaware of that, but my beta pointed it out^^ What do the other states have against that nice turn of phrase?)
> 
> And damn, I googled “mobile phones of 2003” and wow… Thank Merlin for smartphones! Draco has my old mobile, just fyi ;)

How Harry winds up in front of the tapestry at Grimmauld Place, he is not quite sure of. He knows he took his broom out after sending Draco a quick note that he needed some time alone tonight and that he would come over to Draco’s flat later. He must have wandered about the house then, and landed here. 

He stares at the charred spot in the wall where Sirius should have been without actually seeing it. Today’s therapy session catches up with him both gradually and all at once, leaving his limbs heavy and his head full. 

But at least he has an idea of how to proceed now. 

“Harry?” a voice asks, yet it sounds distant. 

A hand on his shoulder alerts him to the presence in the room and he turns towards blond hair and concerned grey eyes. 

“It’s almost eleven… I was worried.”

Harry nods, swallowing around the lump he had in his throat ever since he left Aphrodite’s office. 

“I’m going to hollow it out.”

“Pardon?” 

Harry clears his throat. “If I could, I’d tear it down and rebuild it but we checked; the magic doesn’t permit it. So I’m hollowing it out and renovating it from ground to top.”

“Grimmauld Place?”

Harry nods, his skin tingling as he continues. Talking about it somehow makes his decision more real. “Sirius hated this house. Frankly, _I_ hate this house and I thought renovating a few rooms would be enough but… It’s hard to explain…”

Draco’s eyes widen. “You mean that you’re holding onto your godfather by holding onto his house?”

Harry fixes an incredulous stare at him but Draco merely shrugs. 

“I’m in therapy, too. I can mimic Aphrodite’s logic just fine.”

“You’re better at it than I am.”

“Well, you’ll get there. So what’s the plan?”

Harry heaves a sigh. “I’ll meet with contractors, invite offers, make plans with an architect for the remodelling…”

Draco raises an eyebrow at him and for the first time it actually occurs to Harry that, by doing this, he would effectively exile himself from his own house. 

Damn.

“Draco…”

“I know that tone – it’s the ‘I’m your fit boyfriend, you need to do shite for me’ tone.”

“Well, I mean… If I go through with this —”

“ _When_ you go through with this, you mean.”

“All right, _when_ I go through with this I’ll need another place to stay. So maybe, do you think that I could…” He has faced Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest and Merlin knows what else, but asking his partner to temporarily move into his flat terrifies him, even in his mid-twenties. This is pathetic. 

Thankfully, Draco, despite his remaining Slytherin traits, still has enough compassion to take pity on him. 

“Yes, Potter, you can move in with me while you tear down this abomination of a house.”

Draco might be scowling, but Harry knows him well enough to know it is merely for show. So Harry smiles at him and kisses the expression right off his face. 

His limbs are still heavy but the fuzz in his head has at least cleared a little.

*

Draco really thought he might catch a break this week. Of course, that Harry will need more support now that he is facing therapy head on was clear, yet Draco hoped that at least the rest of the world would cool down. 

But no such luck. This morning’s brand of problem is once again delivered in the form of the Daily Prophet. It isn’t Skeeter’s doing – this once the article is written by a bloke named Pike, yet the overall effect of this front page – front page! – story is no less overwhelming. 

 

_THE TRUTH BEHIND L &D: MICHAEL MILTON EXPOSES THE “DEN OF INEQUITY” _   
_By Jonathan Pike_

_The opening of Lucifer Milton and Draco Malfoy’s accounting firm, wittily dubbed “L &D”, was on everyone’s lips yesterday. Those who visited the firm and made use of the open door policy encountered another surprise – Sam Winchester, the lawyer who sent Allan Jones and his thugs to Azkaban for rape, has moved into the office building as well. _

_In the trial’s aftermath, Winchester was heavily headhunted and everyone awaited his decision with bated breath. However, the wizard had his pick of every top-notch law firm in the country. Why, then, does he choose a small start-up like L &D? _

_Michael Milton, managing partner of Triple M and former boss of both Winchester and Lucifer Milton, sheds light on the mystery. “Lucifer and Winchester are shagging, crudely put. Striking up such a relationship at my firm was impossible for the two of them since we have an anti-fraternisation policy and, frankly, because we are an enterprise that represents and upholds family values.”_

_And apparently, Mr Milton sees L &D devoid of such values? “It is a den of inequity,” the man confirms and lets us in on a juicy secret: “Until I read it in the papers, I had no idea that my brother would go into business for himself. Of course, I travelled into town to confront him about it and caught him and Mr Winchester…frankly, in a position that was less then professional for a CEO.” _

_Michael Milton, meanwhile, confirms Triple M’s stand on…_

 

Draco throws the paper down, not interested in Michael’s opinion on why Triple M is so great or every scrap of dirt and rumours this Pike bloke managed to scrape together on Lucifer’s promiscuous past. 

He gulps down his orange juice despite Harry’s widening eyes, gives him a quick kiss and calls over his shoulder, “I need to be in the office, I’ll see you tonight!” while he is already on his way out the door. 

*

He reaches the lobby, which is eerily deserted at 7.25 am, at the same time as Rita Skeeter. 

“Now, now, glaring doesn’t become you, Mr Malfoy,” she chides and Draco rolls his eyes, making sure to glare with a vengeance. 

They run into Lucifer on the main floor and when Sam rounds the corner a few minutes later, his hair slightly dishevelled and sleep still in his eyes, they wordlessly withdraw into the nearest conference room. Everyone turns and focuses on Skeeter who doesn’t so much as blush. 

“I had nothing to do with this. In fact, I believe that was planned. My editor might not know but at least he suspects that we are collaborating, and Michael Milton is a clever chap, of course he won’t go to me.”

“So what, your colleagues conspired and kept it under wraps until it was published this morning?” Sam asks incredulously. 

“Do not pretend you know how the everyday life in a news room works, Mr Winchester. Secrecy is difficult, but manageable.”

“But why would they print it without even asking for a comment from the accused?” Not that Draco is holding the Prophet’s ethical standards pretty high to begin with, but this is a new low. “Michael’s basically calling you the Overlord of Impropriety!” 

“Jonathan Pike has been after my position in the paper for years, young Malfoy,” Skeeter answers levelly. “But what’s printed is printed. What we need to focus on is an opposing point of view. And think quickly, I want to make the Evening Prophet!”

She is already retrieving quill and parchments. Draco groans and takes a seat with the others. 

*

There are times when Lucifer despises Skeeter, yet today is not one of them. She works fast and clever and has them out of the conference room in time for the staff meeting, which Lucifer sails through because Natasha told him there are already potential customers in the lobby. 

“All right, don’t forget to smile and remember the approved replies to folks mentioning me shagging the head of our legal department,” he calls after them cheerily and turns towards Natasha for tea and the files he needs. Strangely enough, there is a bouquet of flowers sitting on her desk. 

“Sir, you have a visitor.”

He narrows his eyes. “Where?”

“He is in your office.”

Lucifer draws in a breath, ready to ask why exactly she offhandedly allowed someone into his office, when he glimpses the alarming shades of colours the flowers at her desk sport and groans. 

It is way too early for this. 

Sure enough, when he opens his office door, none other than his brother Gabriel is lounging in his chair, feet kicked up on his desk while sucking on a lollipop. 

“Out. Of. My. Chair.”

“Oh, you’re in a mood today, little brother,” Gabriel chirps but at least he takes his feet off the desk. 

“Why are you here?”

“What, I can’t congratulate my favourite family member on his success?”

Lucifer doesn’t dignify this with an answer, merely scowls at Gabriel until the younger wizard has the decency to vacate the chair and switch places with Lucifer while he sits down gracefully. 

“All right, fine, no small talk.” Gabriel brings his hands up in surrender. “This is my job interview.”

“What.” 

“I read something interesting in the papers this morning and just had to confront its source about it. Now I’m out of a job.”

“You quit?”

Gabriel beams. “Do you think I’m daft, brother dear? We argued, he admitted to being a scheming bastard, I threw a vase at him, he fired me in a fit of blind rage, you know, the usual.”

Unfortunately, that is exactly how arguments amongst them normally go. 

Gabriel spreads his arms wide, presenting himself in all his yellow-robed glory. “I’m yours if you want me. And I know that you want me because you need me. You know my portfolio, Lucifer. You know you won’t find anyone better than me.”

Lucifer frowns. “Well, with you here, I wouldn’t be the oldest employee we have.”

“See? There’s no downside to this,” Gabriel winks. “And for the record, I’m glad you and little Sammy have finally cracked and ravished each other. Can we expect a happy announcement by the end of the month?”

Despite his mood, Lucifer snorts. “You know me better than that.”

“That’s why it was a joke.”

“Oh, you’re going to be a ray of sunshine in this office, aren’t you? “

Gabriel just grins wider and Lucifer calls Draco into his office who, predictably, jumps about half a metre when he sees the shade of yellow Gabriel is wearing. 

“Gabriel was fired this morning after he confronted our scheming prick of a brother,” he explains, amazed at how quickly Draco managed to school his expression. “He is applying for a job but I can’t hire him without your approval.”

Draco eyes Gabriel up quickly before facing Lucifer again, his face serious. 

“One condition.”

“I’m listening.”

“He hires a personal stylist.”

Gabriel protests, of course, but Lucifer doesn’t actually hear him because he is too busy laughing. 

Maybe having his brother join them is not the worst idea they ever had. 

*

That evening it is Draco who quotes lines from the Prophet at Harry. 

“ _Lucifer Milton remained unfazed when confronted about the headline. To him what some have called a scandal is nothing to be ashamed about. “I handle my clients’ accounts with the same passion, attention, and endurance as I do my lovers,” Milton explains. ‘The difference is that the latter is none of our clients’ business while the other is, in fact, their business.’_ Oh Merlin, this is priceless!” Draco laughs and Harry can’t help but chime in until they both sober up enough that Draco can read on. 

“ _A side effect of this morning’s front page is a rather shocking change in staff: Gabriel Milton, one of the three senior partners of Triple M, left his family’s business and joined L &D. Gabriel Milton was more than vocal about his motivation: ‘What’s important to me is that we put the clients first, not petty family feuds. So yes, as of now I am with L&D.’” _

“But didn’t you say Michael fired him?”

“Yes, but revealing that would draw more attention to the incident than it is worth. Besides, every single one of their clients knows about the non-compete clause, so they’ll easily infer that Gabriel was fired or else he wouldn’t be allowed to work with half of our customers.”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “This really makes me glad that I’m in law enforcement…”

Draco smiles briefly before his expression turns more serious. “Speaking of which, I think I saw my bodyguard today.”

“You sure?”

“Maybe? Have you noticed anything?”

“Sometimes – it’s like I get the feeling that I’m being watched but I never had a chance to draw them out.”

“How long d’you think Lucifer will keep them on our tail?” 

Harry groans. “As long until the last of the Prosecutors is behind bars.”

“And how long will that take?” Draco grins sheepishly. 

“That’s classified information, Mr Malfoy.”

“Oh, I have my ways of extortion,” he purrs and suddenly, Harry has a lap full of blond wizard. Draco wriggles a little, purposefully rubbing his arse against Harry’s groin and that’s it, his blood flow is changing direction. 

“We’re close,” he admits, inhaling sharply when he feels Draco’s teeth scrape over the skin of his throat. “We’re waiting on a final lead.”

“Good,” Draco whispers in his ear while deft fingers are working the front of his robes open. 

Apparently his partner is done talking so Harry lets his hands roam as well, sneak beneath fabric and push it up until Draco stretches and allows Harry to divest him of his V-neck. The planes of pale skin in front of him are distracting. Harry tongues one of Draco’s nipples, stroking his side with his hands the way he knows will make the blond shiver and impatient. Sure enough, a few moments later Draco flicks his wrist impatiently and the rest of their clothes are lying in a neat pile on the armchair. 

Draco shuffles forward a little until Harry’s erection pushes against the cleft of his arse but instead of asking Harry to prep him, Draco kisses his way across Harry’s chest and strokes his abdomen, hands inches away from his own cock but never touching it. 

Harry throws his head back and enjoys the tongue on his skin and lips closing around a nipple while the slightest movement makes Draco’s arse rub along his cock in the most torturously slow rhythm in the history of Wizardkind. 

Draco wants to be in charge tonight and Harry has no problem with letting him. 

Suddenly, Draco reaches around his body and puts a hand on Harry’s cock, rubbing it between his arse cheeks. 

“I’m going to ride you, Harry,” he tells him, waiting for his enthusiastic “Merlin, yes!” before summoning lube from the bedroom. “Prepare me?” Draco asks, voice husky and Harry feels his cock twitch. 

The angle takes some time to adapt to but soon, Draco is relaxed and stretched around four of his fingers. Draco takes over then, positioning himself over Harry’s crotch and sinking down until Harry’s balls are touching Draco’s arse. 

“Fuck,” Draco breathes out, resting their foreheads together. 

“Do you want me to move or…?” Harry asks, mindful of potential triggers. Only because their first time with reversed positions passed smoothly doesn’t mean this one will, too. 

“No,” Draco tells him with a wink. “Let me.”

What follows is incredible. Harry really likes being shagged, yet being the one doing the shagging is equally brilliant, especially when Draco is writhing above him, a sheen of sweat covering his skin. Harry leaves his hands on Draco’s hips, helping him move up and down at an increasing pace and every time Harry hits Draco’s prostate, a gasp tears from his lips. 

Harry is almost gone, feeling his orgasm build low in his body, when Draco shudders abruptly. It is different, somehow – a glance at Draco’s face confirms it. There is a crease between his brows that normally doesn’t belong there during sex and Harry stills, moving his hands along Draco’s torso, hopefully soothing whatever distress he is feeling. 

Draco pulls off swiftly and despite his worry, Harry groans at the friction, eyes falling shut, which means he feels rather than sees Draco sit down next to him on the couch. 

Before he has a chance to ask what happened, a hand wraps around Harry’s aching erection. Draco knows how to wank him, how to get him worked up and tease but this time, he goes in for the kill, moving his hand fast and rubbing a thumb over the slit, spreading precome and mixing it with the lube still clinging to his cock. 

He splashes his release over his chest and stomach, a wave of pleasure coursing through him. However, Harry doesn’t let it get to his head – instead, he slides off the sofa and crawls between Draco’s legs. His grey eyes are dark as they watch Harry take the only half-hard cock in his mouth and Harry decides he will give Draco the best blowjob he has ever received. 

He hollows his cheeks and sucks, gently at first but with increasing pressure, until Draco tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair and his erection is thick and heavy on his tongue. Harry teases, licks, massages Draco’s balls but is careful not to play with his perineum. He places hot kisses on the shaft and head, swallows Draco down and builds up a slow rhythm, keeps it up until Draco is writhing again, the crease between his brows gone and replaced by blissed-out, wide eyes. 

Draco comes with Harry’s name on his lips, flooding Harry’s throat with warm come and once he has swallowed, Harry climbs back up onto the sofa and pulls Draco close. 

They don’t talk about what happened for Harry can infer enough. But the fact that Draco didn’t panic completely but managed to keep going remains and makes Harry smile into Draco’s dishevelled blond hair. 

*

It is almost two o’clock on Thursday night – or early Friday morning – and Harry is running. The moon is shining eerily bright above him as he sprints down the narrow alleyway, his heart thrumming and his pulse rushing in his ears. 

Their final lead came in, said that the founder and commander of the Prosecutors is hiding out in a tiny village in Wales, and Harry and his team were on their way before Robards could tell them to be careful. 

The bloke, only known as Command, is bloody fast for a man in his fifties. Harry curses under his breath and forces his legs to carry him faster still until he reaches what is probably the town square. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ron’s familiar movement to his right some street over and there, opting for the quickest connection between the two sides of the square, is Command. 

Harry conjures a wall a few metres ahead of the wizard, who doesn’t try to dismantle it but evades the obstacle, giving them enough time to be in hexing distance. 

Ron aims and fires, a fluid movement that ends in a Tripping jinx and hits Command in his left ankle. Harry sends a Cushioning charm his way right before he disarms the man and Ron winds magical ropes around his feet and hands. 

“Sir, you’re under arrest,” Harry barks at the bloke, who, after all, is responsible for at least one murder, even if he ‘only’ pulled the strings. 

“You will be informed of your charges once we have you processed and in custody. Be mindful that everything you say now can and will be used against you in front of the Wizengamot,” Ron say, like he always does. Harry just can’t pull that sentence off without either quoting the Muggle version he knows from procedural crime shows Aunt Petunia used to like, or laughing half-way through. 

“You’ve got nothing on me!” the man snarls, grinning triumphantly. 

They ignore his antics and take him, along with Hollande and Graham, who have caught up by now, back to London. 

*

Usually, it takes ages until a suspect is processed but Harry guesses that when you bring them in at two in the morning, everyone works especially quickly to get it over with. 

They file their reports and by the time they are ready to head home at five, Robards is there, gracing them with a rare smile. 

“Suspect in custody and in one piece. Colour me surprised.”

The wizard makes sure they took care of all the paperwork necessary and then, making everyone actually cheer, gives them the day off, with strict orders to celebrate the end of a months-long case. 

Harry falls asleep as soon as his head hits his cushion and wakes five hours later from the sound of Hermione’s owl tapping against his bedroom window. Reluctantly, he sheds the blankets and gives the bird some treats, then showers and gets dressed because Hermione invited him and Draco over to her house to celebrate the end of the Prosecutor case. 

“The perks of being a senior partner,” Draco explains after he kisses Harry so thoroughly that his knees go weak, “is that I can take a long lunch whenever I bloody well want.”

“Technically, we’re having brunch,” Hermione clarifies. 

Harry sits down and wonders when he grew up enough to have _brunch_. 

Ron and Harry relate the story of their epic chase through Wales, with Hermione and Draco making the appropriate “ah” and “ooh” sounds. But something is going on, Harry notices. Hermione and Ron and sharing glances and while that in itself is not unusual, there is an added air of mystery. It’s hard to explain, but Harry has a feeling something is up. 

His suspicion is confirmed when Hermione clears her throat after they all helped tidy up the table and are drinking coffee and tea. 

“There is something I have to tell you,” she says, eyes landing on Harry after resting on Draco for a moment. “Well, that we have to tell you,” she amends, taking Ron’s hand in her own and intertwining their fingers like they usually do. 

“It’s not bad, is it?” Harry asks, unable to stop from worrying.

Hermione, though, smiles. “Not at all. You see,” she swallows nervously, “I’m pregnant.”

Harry blinks until the impact of the information hits him and the rush of happiness is almost enough to make his head spin. “Oh Hermione, that’s brilliant! Congratulations!”

“Yes, congratulations!” Draco chimes in, genuinely smiling. 

“And we’d like you to be the godfather, Harry,” Ron adds, eyes sparkling. “I know you’ve already got Teddy but we figured one more can’t be too bad, right, mate?”

“I’d love to!” Harry replies before really thinking about it. But the thing is, he doesn’t need to think it over; if his best friends want him to be the godfather of their first child, he will do it. “It’s an honour.”

“Brilliant.” Ron smiles, then looks at his wife and places a hand on her stomach as if he has been holding back the urge all this time. 

“We’re going to tell our families tomorrow,” Hermione explains. 

Harry remembers – the Weasleys are having a large family dinner since Ginny has a week off from training with the Harpies, Bill and Fleur are in town, and Charlie managed to make time for a visit. Mrs Weasley sent Harry an invitation and Harry knows he has to go since he hasn’t seen his surrogate family in far too long. 

“Oh, and bring your other half,” Ron says, smirking at Draco. 

“Is your Mum okay with that?” Harry wonders out loud. 

Ron shrugs. “She’s not too thrilled but you’re family. And I guess George buttered her up a bit. He’s really happy with the deal he got.”

“I take it there’s no escaping this?” Draco’s eyes are a little wide. 

“The sooner they accept you, Draco, the better.”

“Can I bribe them with wine? Mead? Firewhiskey? I think I still have some imported Cider from France…”

“I’m sure whatever you will bring will be perfect,” Hermione soothes. “Just try not to insult anyone.”

Draco snorts. “I shall do my best.”

Harry can’t help but kiss him then. “You’re going to do great.”

His partner looks ready to argue, yet opts against it because Ron and Hermione are still smiling and bringing up all the reasons why Draco’s presence at the Burrow might not go over too well would only dampen the mood - and this is supposed to be a celebration, after all. 

*

Draco is not nervous. No, he has moved beyond “nervous” and currently would describe his state of mind as “terrified”. 

A Weasley dinner. At the Burrow. With Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill and Fleur, Charlie and Steve, Percy, George, Ron and Hermione as well as the Weasl- Ginny. Not only is he meeting people he made fun of for years, but this is also as close to Harry’s family as anyone will ever get. Draco is going to meet his boyfriend’s parents and he is terrified. 

In a fit of panic (which he will deny until the day he dies) Draco hounds Diagon Alley after his appointment with Aphrodite for the perfect gift. His initial reaction is to throw money at the Weasleys until they like him, yet he doubts that strategy will work well on the family. 

Exasperated, Draco retrieves his Nokia and types out a quick text to Jo. 

_How do you woo your boyfriend’s surrogate family without making it seem like you’re trying to buy their sympathies? - DM_

Jo is wealthy, Emerson is not and still, Em’s family and friends like Jo. Well, Jo didn’t spend his time at school being a total prick to Em’s family, but Draco is grasping at straws here. 

_I take it you’re invited over to the Weasleys? – Jo_

_Yes. Family dinner with about 200 redheads. I’m not prepared for this. – DM_

_Well, if it’s a dinner and there are so many people, bring alcohol. – Jo_

_I take it you’re not referring to the 80 Gallon a bottle wine at my flat? – DM_

_No! Buy something cheap – well, cheap in your eyes. It has to taste good, though. – Jo_

_I’m in Diagon Alley. Will find the perfect beverage. – DM_

_Good luck! And bring enough to last through dinner, that will make a good impression. – Jo_

Draco puts the mobile back in his pocket and when he looks up, he notices that several witches and wizards around him are eyeing him curiously. With a smirk on his face and in a better mood, Draco chooses his second favourite wine merchant. 

It takes a while and makes him late for his lunch date with Harry, but at least Draco has a gift for tonight. 

*

That, however, doesn’t make him any less nervous when Harry and he floo to the Burrow. Draco would have preferred to apparate but Harry’s dislike of that means of travelling is well-known and besides, there is no reason for Harry not to use the floo network when he always uses it to visit the Weasleys. 

_B polite, compliment the cooking but dnt try 2 hard & dnt mention the past_, was Emerson’s advice when Draco texted him and he recites it as his mantra inside his head as he takes in the cacophony of cushions, pictures, furniture, and Merlin knows what else that is the Burrow’s living room. 

It is cleaner than Draco imagined it to be and surprisingly… homey. There is a lived-in atmosphere hanging in the air that never settled on Malfoy Manor and that Draco encountered for the first time when he had been living alone for about a year in his own flat. 

Draco clutches the magically shrunken caste of cider when several pairs of eyes turn towards them. 

Ron and George are playing a game of Wizarding Chess at a nearby table while Ginny and two tall men who must be Bill and Charlie are drinking tea in another corner. 

“Harry, mate,” Ron greets his best friend immediately and even smiles at Draco. “Come on, let me introduce you.”

Ron is entirely too chipper for Draco’s liking. He probably enjoys the barely-in-check expression of polite interest on his face as he leads Draco over to the Weaslette and clarifies who of the men is Charlie and who Bill (the scar is a rather obvious indicator for future references). 

“You know George already,” Ron says when they reach the twin. 

“Great to see you again.” Draco smiles as they shake hands again because contrary to the other members of his family Draco met until now, George looks by far the friendliest. 

“Likewise! Let me take you both to the kitchen – Ron’s been banned,” he adds in a whisper that is still loud enough for Ron to overhear. 

“Oi, I’m not banned!”

“Yes, Ronald, you are!” comes a voice from the doorway. “You’re a menace to the egg whites.”

Draco turns around and sees the matriarch. Molly Weasley looks like he remembers her from platform 9 ¾ if maybe a little older. 

“Harry dear, it’s wonderful to see you again, come here!” 

She pulls Harry into a tight hug, which he returns with equal enthusiasm. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“Of course! After all, you’re part of the family.”

Harry motions for Draco to step closer, just a tiny flick of his wrist but Draco understands and follows, shifting the gift-wrapped crate in his hands. 

“And this is Draco. Draco, Molly Weasley.”

“Thank you for inviting me into your home,” Draco says with his most charming smile and hands over the present. 

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Mrs Weasley replies, though it sounds a little stilted. 

“Really, I wanted to.”

That earns him a considering look but before she can say anything else, George pulls both him and Harry into the kitchen. “Yeah, all right, enough pleasantries.”

The kitchen is full of more people. Hermione is stirring something in a large pot while there are some not-redheaded people seated around the large kitchen table, preparing food. 

The ensuing chaos is confusing but Draco manages to find out who everyone is. He barely recognises Angelina Johnson (not that he paid her much attention during school even if she was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team), distantly recalls Fleur from fourth year, is introduced to Percy Weasley, Hermione’s mother, and Steve, Charlie’s very attractive dragon tamer boyfriend who still manages to look intimidating in an apron while chopping salad. 

“Dad and Rufus are in the shed. Dad has questions about that Xbox thing he confiscated last week.”

“Why would he confiscate an Xbox?” Draco wonders before he can stop himself. 

“How do you know what an Xbox is?” Angelina shots back, slightly snappish. 

“He owns a TV,” Harry jumps in. “And a mobile phone.”

“Which reminds me, I should switch it to mute,” Draco mutters, hurriedly locating the device in the pocket of his blazer (since apparently, Weasley dinners allow very, very casual wear, as Harry informed him with a laugh as he saw Draco pulling on his best suit). 

“Oh, you need to show that to Arthur,” Mrs Granger – Ruth – says. “He will pester you about it all night.”

“But not before dinner,” Mrs Weasley tells him and Draco nods quickly. “George, tell the others to go the dining room, it’s almost ready, and then give your pregnant wife a hand, young man!”

Harry and Draco are also shuffled out of the kitchen and into a large room that looks very new. 

“It is,” Harry explains, “they only added this part a few years ago when we didn’t fit into the kitchen anymore when it was too cold to eat outside.”

Within minutes, the table fills. Draco meets Hermione’s and Ron’s fathers, who only stop talking about the purpose of gaming consoles when Mrs Weasley glares at them while she levitates in the food with Steve’s help. 

To think that Mrs Weasley and her helpers made all of it by themselves without an army of house-elves is astonishing to say the least. 

Weasley dinners are nothing like meals at Malfoy Manor. It’s loud and lively whereas Draco is used to stilted conversation with his father and warmer exchanges with his mother, while wearing stiff high-end clothes. For a moment he worries that it might be too much, either for him or for Harry, but the atmosphere is in no way threatening despite the few glares he receives (especially from the Weaslette). 

Draco makes sure to compliment the food, which earns him a smile from Steve and a slightly less sour expression from Mrs Weasley, but otherwise he effaces himself unless spoken to. It seems like the safest option.

After the food has been cleared off the table, there is desert, followed closely by tea, coffee, and additional alcohol. 

“What’s that?” George asks, inspecting the crate Mrs Weasley placed on a sideboard. 

“Draco brought a gift,” Molly explains and George decides immediately that they are going to drink all the bottles. 

“You say that as if it were an accomplishment,” Draco quips, “there’re only eight bottles but about a hundred of us.”

George merely laughs good-naturedly and pours the cider. 

A while later, Draco is on his way back from the washroom (with tiles featuring turtles and fish that were swimming about – why would anyone decorate a room like that?), when he literally runs into Steve. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it, I’m used to dragons so I’m tough.”

“Oh, I see that,” Draco shoots back with a smirk and a wink. 

Draco asks about what life with dangerous creatures is like and Steve in turn seems genuinely interested in what Draco is doing at L&D. After a few minutes of polite small talk, there is a pause in the conversation and Steve sighs. 

“Just for the record, I know what it’s like, being in your shoes.”

“Well, you only had to win over the mother. I feel like I have to fight off angry glares from everyone.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to swap with you, man.”

“How did you do it? Harry mentioned cooking…?”

At that, Steve barks out a laugh. “Pretty much. Tried showing her that I’m a nice guy, helped around the house… Eventually, she saw that her son could do much worse.”

“I doubt there’s much worse than me in her eyes.”

Steve considers him for a moment, hands in his pockets. “From what I heard, you changed a great deal in the past few years and everyone’s still a bit surprised because they didn’t think it was actually true. So if you want my advice? Keep doing what you’re doing and give them time.”

“Thanks.”

“And talk to Arthur about Muggle stuff; you’ll have won him over in a heartbeat!”

“All right,” Draco chuckles, watching Steve go off. He might as well give it a try, then. It’s not as if he has much footing to lose. 

He switches his mobile back on and walks casually up to Arthur Weasley when he spies the man refilling his glass. 

“Sir?” Draco begins, causing the Weasley to turn around, narrowing his eyes a little. 

“Yes?”

“George told me I should show you my mobile phone, since you are interested in Muggle technology,” he explains, retrieving the device from his blazer pocket. 

He did not expect the pure delight on Mr Weasley’s face. “Oh, Merlin’s beard! Is that thing actually working?”

“Yes.”

“May I?” 

Draco hands the phone over, keeping a weary eye on the wizard’s movements as he presses a key and makes a sound that comes close to a squeak when the screen lights up. Of course, the key lock is still engaged, so Mr Weasley can’t actually do anything. 

“May I show you what it can do?”

Wide eyes snap up to meet his and before Draco knows what’s happening, he is being pulled out of the dining room and into a crammed shed. The walls are lined with shelves which in turn are littered with cables and other things Draco thinks he recognises from Jo’s household. 

“I’m a collector, you might say,” Mr Weasley says, waving his hand about the room. “Rufus told me what most of these things are but they are usually broken because they had spells placed upon them that haven’t been woven into the materials correctly to make them work around magic. But this phone works?”

To his surprise, Draco enjoys himself more than he anticipated. Mr Weasley is an avid listener, asks questions, and handles the Nokia with great care. 

“Would you like to try calling someone?” Draco offers, sniffing an opportunity to once and for all gain the sympathies of the man of the house. 

“I’d love to! But I wouldn’t know who to call… Rufus and Ruth are both here.”

“Go to the contacts,” Draco instructs, “and press call when you find the name ‘Jo Chandler’. He certainly won’t mind.”

Draco sees the moment Mr Weasley recognises the name and connects the dots between Jo and the Muggle at his trial but to his credit, he doesn’t say anything. 

With almost childish joy, the wizard pushes the right button and puts the phone to his ear. 

“It’s ringing!” he tells Draco animatedly and then explains to a surprised Jo who he is and that Draco allowed him to try the mobile phone. 

After that, Mr Weasley recounts how he came into the possession of an apparently curse-free Xbox and how neither Rufus nor Ruth have any idea what it is supposed to do. 

“As far as I know, you can buy games and play them. Like Wizarding chess and miniature Quidditch,” Draco expands when he notices the crease between the other man’s brow, “but on a television. You have enough room, maybe you could even sneak one in here and try it out.”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, Draco recalls Harry telling him about Mrs Weasley’s dislike of her husband’s hobby… Well, too late. He might as well finish his train of thought. 

“I know a vendor who sells televisions that are equipped to function in magical homes.”

“Please, Draco, give me that name and call me Arthur.”

“With pleasure.”

“Oh, but could you…” Arthur hesitates yet Draco knows exactly what he is trying to ask for. 

“- not mention it to your wife? Don’t worry, she won’t learn it from me.”

Mr Weasley pats him on the shoulder and thanks him, then digs up a scrap of parchment from beneath a dismantled hair blower and Draco writes down his supplier’s number, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. 

*

When Draco returns from the shed tailing after Mr Weasley, the older wizard first checks the kitchen – Draco presumes it is to make sure his wife is nowhere to be seen. Re-entering the living room, Draco catches Harry’s eyes and smirks. The Boy Who Never Learned The Meaning Of Subtlety is at his side immediately. 

“You were in the shed, weren’t you?”

“Maybe.” Draco grins mysteriously. 

“Oh no, what did you do?”

“I might have given Arthur the name to the vendor who sold me my TV…”

“Arthur?”

“Oh, we’re thick as thieves now, Harry.”

Harry bursts into laughter, slinging an arm around Draco and kissing him on the cheek in one fluid motion. Out of reflex, Draco turns with the movement and meets Harry’s lips for a chaste kiss. 

George wolf-whistles.

Harry lets go of him reluctantly, sparing an apologetic glance for Mrs Weasley. Draco sees the Weaslette glaring at them – or rather, him – but before she can comment, Ron taps his wand against his glass to catch everyone’s attention. 

Draco isn’t sure how he feels about being privy to this moment. Sharing news like a pregnancy in the Weasley household certainly differs from how it unfolds (or used to unfold, Draco thinks bitterly) in the Malfoy household. 

“George, will you bloody well shut up for a minute!“

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, watch your tongue!”

“Sorry, Mum.” It takes a moment for everything to quiet down but then, Ron has the room’s undivided attention. 

“Hermione and I have something to tell you,” he begins, motioning to his wife to continue. 

“Well,” Hermione say, running a hand through her hair before she takes Ron’s hand to stop it from fidgeting. “There is going to be another addition to the family soon.”

Draco expected several reactions, but nothing this extreme. There is loud cheering, excessive hugging, especially between Ruth, Molly, and Hermione, and endless questions about how far along Hermione is, if she is watching her diet, taking the supplement potions… and everything is just so – warm. 

If he were married to a witch and if he told his parents they were expecting a child, he would have received maybe a smile from Lucius and a pat on his back and a brief hug from his mother. And a speech about the importance of carrying on the Malfoy name. 

“Draco? You all right?” 

He nods. “Yes, sorry. Just thinking.”

Harry nudges him playfully with his hip. “Come on, at least you have parents.”

The bluntness of it startles a laugh out of him and Draco pulls Harry close. Sometimes he forgets that he isn’t the only one with distant parents. 

Before the moment can grow even more emotional (Draco is decidedly ignoring the burning in his eyes), Ron saunters over and hands them a glass of champagne – very good champagne at that, Draco notes. 

Everyone toasts the prospective parents and the evening goes on. 

*

The Prosecutor case may be finally wrapped up, yet somehow, Harry feels more tired than ever before. While Draco decides to ask Aphrodite to reduce his weekly session to two instead of three (“She just smiled at me and told me that it’s a huge accomplishment that I feel like I can reduce my hours with her,” Draco tells Harry Monday evening in a daze), Harry has to recount too many episodes from his teenage years. 

Harry gets it. He is supposed to realise that none of those deaths, not even Sirius’s, were his fault, but actually implementing what he knows in theory and stop feeling guilty are two entirely different things. 

Clearing out Grimmauld Place certainly helps to some extent. Harry spends all of Sunday with Ron, Hermione, and Draco putting things into boxes, which will be put in storage. 

Harry initially wants to burn the Black Family Tree before Draco positively _throws_ himself in front of the wall. 

“Harry, this is a priceless testament of magical history! By Merlin, sell it to a collector and use the fortune you’ll make to sponsor a nursery for orphan werewolves or something else that would have pissed the Blacks off, but do not burn this tapestry!”

Harry blinks at his partner, stunned speechless. However, like many of Draco’s ideas, it is a good one and as much as Harry would love to see Mrs Black’s face burn to ashes, selling it and doing something good is a better solution. 

On Monday, he contacts a specialist who comes by that evening to take a look and by Tuesday night the tapestry room has been cleared and thanks to Draco he finds a buyer who offers him a ridiculous amount of money for the “testament of magical history”. 

Harry spends all his free time that isn’t consumed by work, exercise, therapy, or quality time with Draco clearing out Grimmauld Place. Draco is a great help, especially in identifying objects Mundungus missed when he first raided the place. 

“Seriously, what would you do without me? This vase is ancient! Even my father would pay about 12,000 Galleons for it!” Draco grouses on Wednesday evening. 

Harry merely shakes his head and puts the (frankly rather ugly) vase into the box that has “Sell” written on the side. 

Later that night, Harry has spread out the different offers he has invited across the kitchen table, one of the last pieces of furniture in the house. A company will fetch them tomorrow along with the boxes and put them into storage and Harry will contemporarily move in with Draco. 

“Have you settled on one yet?”

Harry shakes his head, grateful for the mug of tea Draco brought with him. 

“It’s a good then you placed the inquiry anonymously – just imagine the number of offers you’d have gotten if it had come out the Boy Who Lived is looking to renovate the Black Home.”

Harry groans, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t want to decide,” he complains, “I’d much rather blow you.”

His comment has the intended effect: Draco splutters slightly before raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Is that so?”

Harry smirks back in affirmation. 

“Well, maybe you should take a break after all.”

He is on his knees immediately, not caring how graceless or daft it looks, and rubs his nose against Draco’s crotch until he can feel the flesh underneath the fabric harden. He divests Draco of his trousers quickly but leaves the pants. He wants to make this especially good and draw it out so he mouths at Draco’s length, happily ruining the expensive fabric with saliva. Not that his partner is complaining. 

Harry continues until Draco groans in frustration and pulls his pants down. Harry tilts his head slightly and enjoys the blush spreading across Draco’s cheeks. 

“You’re a bloody tease, Potter,” he snaps but any further protest dies in his throat when Harry sucks his erection into his mouth in one go. 

Harry alters between messily bobbing his head up and down the shaft, keeping the suction strong and stroking the sensitive skin behind Draco’s testicles, with torturous licks along Draco’s cock, playing with the slit and rubbing the spot where his glans ends until the blond is a writhing, gasping mess in the armchair from being pushed right up to the edge and taken back so many times. 

“Please,” Draco pleads, and this must be the most erotic sight Harry has ever laid eyes on: Draco, wearing a shirt and nothing else from the waist down, in the throes of pleasure and begging for release. 

Harry couldn’t withhold it if he wanted to. 

Draco explodes in his mouth and Harry drinks it all in greedily, licking Draco clean once the aftershocks have abated and those grey eyes are looking down at him in awe. 

“Wow,” he breathes out and Harry echoes the sentiment before his throbbing erection reminds him of his own arousal. 

“Let me,” Draco intervenes once Harry has shed his clothes and freed his cock. “On the table.”

Harry scrambles to get up there, swiping the parchments scattered across it to the floor (nothing a quick spell won’t re-arrange) and lying back, expecting to feel Draco’s deft fingers.

He gasps at the flick of a tongue on his cock and shoots up, staring along his body to where Draco has positioned himself between his legs, kneeling on the carpet. 

Draco’s look is reassuring but Harry doesn’t lie back down – he needs to watch. 

His partner takes it slow, one hand steadying the shaft while the other rests on the table for support. Draco brings his tongue to the slit, labs at the glans, and traces the vein at the side. 

Harry loses sense of time as the world narrows down to just Draco and him and Draco’s lips around Harry’s erection. Draco is apparently seeking revenge for as soon as Harry feels his orgasm approaching, Draco slows down, lets him cool down before winding him up again. 

When it happens, his climax overcomes him by surprise, giving him no time to tell Draco but the blond is ready and – doesn’t pull back. The sensation of spilling himself into the heat of his mouth is overwhelming and makes Harry’s cock give one last twitch as Harry watches with wide eyes while Draco returns the favour and licks him clean. 

This time, Harry is the one to breathe out, “Wow.” Draco aims for a smug expression yet he ends up grinning from ear to ear as they decide to postpone the decision regarding the contractors to tomorrow morning and head to bed. 

Harry falls asleep, smiling down at Draco, whose head is buried in the nape of his neck, one arm across Harry’s chest. 

*

“I’ll be on my way.” Lucifer stretches on the bed next to Sam and swings himself into a sitting position. 

Sam’s stomach drops as he watches the man summon his robes with one hand and start getting dressed. 

“You could stay. I mean now that we actually managed to have sex in a bed for once,” Sam suggests, keeping his tone light. Or trying to, anyway. 

“I’m not going to cuddle with you, Sammy,” Lucifer chides, buttoning up his shirt. 

“We don’t need to cuddle —”

“Don’t tell me I wouldn’t wake up with your body wrapped around me,” Lucifer chuckles. “Nope, I’ll return to my bed. See you tomorrow!”

One last kiss on the lips and Lucifer is gone, leaving Sam behind in rumpled sheets. 

He heaves a sigh, hating himself for hoping that maybe once they actually found Sam’s bed, the other man might spend the night, not disappear five minutes after getting off. 

Sam bites his lip, still swollen from countless kisses and Lucifer’s cock in his mouth. 

He can’t really say what he expected when Lucifer and he finally got together but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t Lucifer holding him at arm’s length, joking with him at the office and being an all-around charming bastard, only to shut him out as soon as it got emotional. 

It’s not as if Sam wants flowers on his desk every morning or cuddling sessions on the sofa. But he definitely wants more than what Lucifer is currently giving him. 

He is utterly fucked, isn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know about you guys but I had fun! Well, Sam didn’t. *hugs him*
> 
> Only one chapter left (freaking out slightly) and my characters keep coming up with plot points that just have to be included. So prepare for a long, final chapter :) It’s Career Day at Hogwarts!
> 
> PS: Can't promise it'll be finished by next Saturaday, though. I blame the supernatural finale. My muse has been possessed and is working on [unplanned season 10 AUs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1667828/chapters/3539960)...


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Lucifer’s relationship might be over before it even really started. Hogwarts hosts a Career Day and it is the turn of Harry’s year of Aurors to represent the department while Harry also worries about the upcoming Lycanthrope Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here goes the last chapter of part II… I really hope you guys like my resolution! And all the stuff that happens this chapter. My characters went a little overboard with plot, so this is insanely long. #sorrynotsorry
> 
> All the love to my dear [merlenhiver](http://archiveofourown.org/users/merlenhiver), who was my first beta ever since I had this idea, kept cheering me on and provided precious feedback and constructive criticism. (and she also wrote a brilliant Khan/Kirk Omegaverse called [Seeds of Hate](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1012908/chapters/2011066))
> 
> A million thanks also to [vernie_klein](), who did a wonderful job as my beta and cheerleader! (and is the author of [this Voldemort/Harry/Draco story](http://archiveofourown.org/series/60692), if that's your thing)

Harry and he choose a contractor on Thursday morning and Draco positively flies into Lucifer’s office yet it doesn’t change the fact that he is fifteen minutes late to the staff meeting, which wraps up the moment he comes in. 

Lucifer clicks his tongue at him. “So glad you could join us, Draco.”

“Sorry! What did I miss?”

“A few things but why don’t you ask someone else to fill you in? I have an 8.30 to prepare for,” Lucifer says tersely and waltzes out of the room while the partitions float apart, turning the conference room into an extension of the antechamber once more. 

Draco narrows his eyes at Sam. “What happened?”

“Well, Lucifer is meeting with Lady Greysmith about her assets, you have an appointment with that broom manufacturer, and Lucifer and you are taking the CEO of Hammersmith –“

“I know who we’re taking to lunch; I meant what’s eating him? Why the foul mood?”

“I’m not privy to Lucifer’s feelings,” Sam snaps, gathering his files. 

Draco stares after him and shares a look with Janiqua, Sam’s paralegal, who shrugs dejectedly. 

By the time the lunch meeting rolls around, Draco has pieced the puzzle together. Well, Lucifer and Sam aren’t exactly subtle. Yet while Lucifer always has his emotions in check, Sam wears his in his eyes, especially when they are directed at the older man. 

Draco groans. 

“Did I bring the wrong suit?” Shane asks hesitantly. 

“No, I’m just wondering how I could miss that I’m working with people who have the emotional maturity of teenagers.”

“You were rather distracted, sir,” Shane offers, holding out the jacket to him. “But concentrate on Hammersmith. You managed to get him to sign with Triple M, you’ll convince him to sign with us.”

“Thanks.” Draco smirks to hide the fact that he is, actually, slightly nervous. 

The meal at the best restaurant magical London has to offer passes smoothly. Lucifer and Draco work even better together than they did when they enticed Hammersmith the first time and after two and a half hours with the man, he relents. 

“That blithering idiot knew he’d switch before we met,” Lucifer grumbles as they are making their way up the stairs to their offices. “He just wanted us to butter him up.”

“With the revenue his account is going to bring in, I’m prepared to do a lot more than butter him up,” Draco replies, only half joking. The financial scope of the Hammersmith Imperium manages to impress even a Malfoy. 

Lucifer quickens his pace once they reach their floor yet Draco, unperturbed, follows him right into his office where Lucifer turns briskly. 

“What?”

“You do know that usually relationships entail more than just office sex, right?”

“I’m not talking about this, Draco.”

“Who are you going to talk to, then? Gabriel?”

“I’m not talking to anyone, period.”

“Your actual age and your emotional age are further apart than I initially thought.”

“Oh, spare me the cheek,” Lucifer snarls. “I told Sam from the beginning that I’m not the kind of man to give him flowers or anything like that and he knew that when we started this, so he is in no position to complain because he thought I would change.”

“Who said anything about change? I’ve seen you two squabble like a married couple, not to mention the countless inside jokes no one understands except for you and him, or the continuous flirting. Should I go on?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that you think you need to hide behind a mask that’s not you because you think doing so is ‘proper’. But you don’t need that around Sam. Like you said, he knows you, and he’s still there!”

“You finished?”

“I get that it takes some time, Lucifer. It took me a while until I could just be me when I’m around Harry. But if you keep this up, Sam is going to leave you.”

Apparently, Lucifer is out of comebacks and instead throws himself into his chair with more force than necessary. Draco accepts the cue and leaves before his boss throws anything at his head for interfering. 

*

Friday passes much too quickly since Draco has enough to do for three people. On top of the new contracts for Hammersmith and Lightning Brooms and helping Sam argue with Triple M’s legal department over terminating Hammersmith’s contract with them, Draco also has to make sure everything is ready for L&D’s first appearance at the Hogwarts Career Day. 

The event has only been recently added to the academic calendar and is supposed to present the sixth and seventh years with a glimpse into prospective career paths. According to McGonagall, the entire castle is filled with exhibitors from around the globe and L&D should consider themselves lucky to be invited. 

Apparently, Triple M will not be featured at all. Draco contemplates if he can put that fact onto a banner and put it up in his office since the thought always makes him smile. 

The Auror Department has a strict schedule regarding who will represent them at Hogwarts and this time, Harry’s year has the honour. The Boy Who Lived seems equal parts excited and terrified, Draco notices. 

Since the Career Day ends in a celebration that both Harry and Draco have to attend, they spend Friday evening at Jo’s place for their weekly movie night. 

“Are you sure you can’t smuggle us in as employees of your firm?” Emerson pleads for what is probably the fifth time. 

“I asked the Headmistress but she can’t just let two Muggles with no ties to the school into Hogwarts,” Draco explains yet again, an indulgent smile tugging at his lips. 

Em huffs and leans back against Jo. “Should we ever adopt, we need to make sure the child has magic. It’s completely unfair that we’re this excluded.”

“Do I need to lecture someone about the Statute of Secrecy again?” Harry asks, laughing when all he receives in return is a sofa cushion in the face. 

“Em, these cushions are extremely expensive,” Jo chides but Em only tilts his head at him. 

“So why do we have sex on this couch again?”

Jo hesitates. “Because it is extremely expensive?” 

Draco shakes with silent laughter as he watches the two kiss while Harry quickly throws the cushion back without touching it too much. 

*

Hogwarts has changed since Draco last saw her five years ago, but somehow, the castle has remained the same. 

The grounds are still vast yet in the place where the Shrieking Shack once stood now there is a monument inscribed with the names of everyone who died in the Battle of Hogwarts. There are minor differences in the castle walls, yet Draco’s memories of them are so distant that he can’t put his finger on it. 

The Entrance Hall seems brighter, more illuminated than Draco recalls, though somehow, all his memories of seventh year are tinged with dark shadows on the rare occasion that he draws them up. It is fitting, though – it was one of the darkest times in Draco’s life. 

Their colleagues will come to relieve them in the afternoon, so for now it is only Lucifer, Sam, Diane, and Draco who register at the designated desk next to the open doors that allow a view of the Great Hall. The house tables are predictably gone, replaced by several smaller stands, some of which are already being set up. 

As far as Draco knows, the Ministry always occupies the platform usually reserved for the teacher’s table, which is where Harry will spend most of his time if he isn’t on duty in one of the classrooms where students can test their abilities. 

By ten o’clock the Hall has filled with exhibitors: Draco recognises the banners of several magical universities from all across the world as well as certain big corporations that are in need of new trainees every year. 

Colmondeley Cooking, the top address for future chefs, only has a small stand in the hall but advertises its food offers in another classroom. Quivering Quill’s Design School offers small giveaway feathers along with its pamphlets, Gringotts Bank is represented by one sole goblin yet as far as Draco knows, they receive hundreds of applications every year so they don’t actually need the PR. The International Wandmaker Society advertises the perks of learning this old craft while on the other side of the room, Huxley Inc. is boasting a wide selection of their products and internship offers (Huxley is the one firm that not only produces wireless wizard radios but also optimizes Muggle tech, including the computers L&D has in their office). 

Draco also spies Charlie Weasley and Steve underneath a banner of a roaring dragon that exhales real fire over everyone’s heads and the Weaslette upon the podium. The latter is a cacophony of colourful posters and flying pamphlets and every department is present. Ginny seems to be on promotion duty since she stands with the Department for Magical Sports. Hermione is also there, proudly wearing a “support equality” badge that features a stylised wolf’s head and then, finally, Draco sees Harry, who is mounting one last banner with the help of one of his colleagues. Draco saunters over, taking in the rather…enthusiastic posters of the DMLE. 

“I’m afraid your stand is lacking a bit of colour,” he comments, startling Hollande, but Harry doesn’t even turn round to answer, his eyes still fixed on the task before him. 

“Come on, Draco, they’re cheerful!”

“They’re seizure-inducingly vibrant. That one even glitters.”

Harry, finished with the last poster, glances in the direction Draco is indicating. “Well, that’s the Family Ministry,” he says as if that excused anything but Draco lets it go. 

After a few minutes of small talk with Harry, Hollande, and Ron, Hermione joins them, brimming with energy and enthusiasm. 

“Aren’t you excited? I’m so glad Hogwarts finally has something like this! We sure didn’t receive much support in terms of career planning.”

“Well, we once had that talk with the Head of House?” 

“Sure, Harry, but that was in fourth year! No one knows what they want to do in fourth year!”

“Oi, Draco,” Ron interrupts her. “Why are you here anyway? Didn’t know you’re taking on trainees?”

“We’re mostly here for the cheap PR. However, Lucifer and I decided that, if the opportunity presents itself, we might offer sponsoring a student through university. You know, a cheap intern during academic holidays and after a few years a brand new employee to our liking.”

“Brilliant as ever, Draco,” Harry coos, but his eyes are too sincere in their praise for it to be sarcastic. 

Draco has an equally sarcastic retort ready when McGonagall’s voice resounds in the Hall, welcoming them all and pointing out the Career Day’s special features. 

Draco resumes his place at their stand and prepares himself for the onslaught of students. 

*

Three hours of explaining about the application process, the content of the following training, what to expect regarding assignments, and that yes, he really is in a relationship with Draco Malfoy, and yes, he can sign this copy of Witch Weekly, Harry flees the Great Hall for his half-hour lunch break. 

There are several reporters on the prowl, Rita Skeeter amongst them, so he keeps an eye out as he starts his quest for food. On his way back, the makeshift stage that has taken over part of the Entrance Hall is full of people and by the time he reaches one of the schedules hung on the walls, the music starts. 

The notice identifies the group now performing as a dance company and judging by the crowd they have drawn, they must be good. 

‘Good’, Harry soon finds out, is an absolute understatement. The witches and wizards are extraordinary – not only are their moves incredibly complex, but they also accentuate the performance with sudden bursts of colour, all perfectly synchronised, and a few of the dancers even manage to float, an ability that eludes most wizards. 

One of the men performing looks familiar to Harry – tall, with dark hair and Slavic features. As covertly as possible, Harry summons a brochure from next to the stage. Apparently, the Kapralov Company is a world-renowned dance company, touring around the globe with magical shows of all genres. Harry never understood the fascination with ballet, but this modern dance style is actually enjoyable. 

The performers have long since left the stage under thunderous applause and Harry is trying to make his way to Draco in the Great Hall, yet his plan is continuously thwarted by curious students.

“Harry Potter?” a deep voice asks. He turns around, intrigued. It is the dancer from before, the one who looked familiar. 

“Yes?”

“You probably don’t remember me,” he explains with minimal accent, “but we met at the Yule Ball. Anatoly Privalov. I was the Durmstrang student who kidnapped your date that evening.”

“Ah! Yes, how did that work out for you?”

“We’ve been married for two years, actually.” 

“Well, I’m glad my lack of talent on the dance floor made Parvati happy eventually,” Harry replies with a genuine smile. “What is she doing?”

“She’s actually our group manager. Likes to boss us dancers around.”

“I heard that,” a female voice interrupts and suddenly, Parvati is there, looking almost exactly like Harry remembers her except maybe slightly older, and slaps Anatoly on the arm playfully before smiling at Harry. “Long time, no see!”

“Well, you’re apparently busy with your dancers.” Harry indicates the pamphlet in his hand. 

“Oh yes, you wouldn’t believe how fast our shows sell out. If you ever want tickets, though, just owl me, I’ll make it happen.”

“Thanks. Congratulations on the wedding, by the way,” Harry adds because it is only polite. 

“You’re too kind! But I heard you finally found someone for yourself?”

Harry can’t help the faint blush. “Yes, indeed I have. I should go find him, I promised him part of my lunch break.”

“And we have to get Anatoly to the dance class; he’s supposed to be giving a lesson in ten minutes,” Parvati explains before she pulls Harry into a surprising hug and shoos her husband up the marble staircase. 

*

Ten minutes with Harry are not enough to get Draco through this day, that much is certain. 

Whoever said moulding young minds is a honourable task clearly hasn’t met the latest batch of Hogwarts graduates. Their questions are daft, their attitudes lacking, and most of them still give him hostile glares, especially the Gryffindors. 

Teenagers…what was Draco thinking when he agreed to this gig? 

The tension between Sam and Lucifer is decidedly not helping. Most girls who come to their stand are only there to flirt with Sam, who, because he simply is a nice person (Draco is sure he would have been a Hufflepuff, had he attended Hogwarts), he doesn’t take measures to stop them. Maybe he is even trying to provoke Lucifer, make him jealous… 

Draco thanks the gods that he never had to deal with that much drama. Aside from a little fretting about why he had to fall for Harry Potter of all people and a bit of anxiety that his feelings aren’t reciprocated, the dilemma soon passed and turned out to good account. 

“Mr Malfoy?” a female voice asks, pulling Draco back to the present. 

“Professor Vector, hello!” Draco smiles at his old Arithmancy teacher, immediately noticing a student with her. He takes in the second hand robes, amended several times judging by the many seams at the legs and sleeves, the straight, black hair, the Hufflepuff emblem on her robes and the nervous expression and determines this bland girl is either a very poor Muggle-born or comes from a Wizarding family that has never owned a Galleon in their lives. 

What is such a girl doing at the stand for an accounting firm?

Following his gaze, the Professor Vector begins the introductions. “This is Mathilda Robinson, the brightest student in her year. She is expected to complete ten N.E.W.T.s, all with top marks.”

“Hello Miss Robinson. Draco Malfoy.”

“Hello, sir.” Her voice is soft but at least she meets his eyes. Draco doesn’t want to know how much bullying she has to suffer. 

“Miss Robinson has not decided on a career path yet, but she has a passion for my subject I remember you shared.”

“Arithmancy was my favourite subject next to Potions,” Draco confirms. No matter how much stress he had been under, even in sixth year, he had always found time for Vector’s homework assignments. 

“Well, maybe you can open my prodigy’s eyes to the realms of finance, Mr Malfoy,” the witch concludes, leaving Matilda alone with Draco, who is considerably more intrigued now. 

“Would you like to know more about the firm or would you like to see if you can solve a few problems?” he asks, indicating the table behind the L&D stand where they can test interested students’ abilities based on simplified examples from their work days.

“How is your Werewolf policy?” she asks so quietly Draco barely catches it as she follows him to the table. 

So, poor as a pixie _and_ a werewolf? This just keeps getting better. 

“So far non-existent since the issue hasn’t arisen, yet once it does I’m sure we will offer holidays around the full moon and see what else might be needed.”

His response earns him a small smile from the girl. 

“So, why don’t we see if Professor Vector’s praise is justified?”

Fifteen minutes later, Draco is stunned speechless and gaping rather gracelessly at the seventeen-year old girl. The teacher didn’t do her justice – not only does Matilda have an eidetic memory, she also has an understanding of numbers and Arithmancy that exceeds anything Draco has ever witnessed. She can calculate everything in her head at rapid speed, can tell Draco within two minutes of looking at the spread sheets which option would generate the most revenue and most importantly, once she is in her element, she is less shy and gains confidence. 

“So, what do you say? Might finance be a suitable career path for you?” Draco inquires as soon as he has recovered from the shock. 

Matilda straightens in her chair. “What would I need, academically speaking?”

“Well, you’d need a degree in finance, maybe economics, whatever interests you most and for a student of your calibre, I’d say the Oxbridge Institute is the only university that will challenge you enough, at least within the United Kingdom. And as far as I know, Oxbridge is very lycanthrope-friendly.” 

Oxbridge, he has learned from Harry, exists in the Muggle world as well, yet as two separate schools since the students can’t simply floo from one building to the next. 

All of a sudden, Matilda’s enthusiasm wanes. “I, uh, I’m afraid that won’t be…”

“Possible because of the horrendous tuition fees?” Draco finishes for her and she nods, turning beet red. “You see, Miss Robinson, that’s where you are mistaken.”

She perks up at that, her eyes wide. 

“For one, Oxbridge offers a large number of scholarships and with the marks you will receive on your N.E.W.T.s, I doubt you would come away empty-handed if you applied for one. Secondly, my firm is more than willing to offer you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“I think the best option for all parties involved is to help you financially during studies. You can intern between semesters and once you have your degree, you will have to stay with L&D for a certain amount of time we can fix once we know about the exact extent of our financial aid. The way I see it, you receive a first-rate education with a secure job at the end of it as well as a prestigious internship opportunity, and we get the most brilliant mind of her year for the next ten to fifteen years minimum.”

Apparently, the offer somewhat overwhelmed the young witch, since she is blinking rapidly at Draco, processing it all. 

“You don’t need to decide today. I’m sure you’d like to research the courses you’d like to take and maybe you discover something else that would interest you more. But our offer stands.”

“Thank you,” she stammers, “really.” 

Draco hands her his business card with strict instructions to owl once she has a clearer idea or in case she has any questions, and sends her on her way, her head obviously still spinning. 

“Was that the genius the headmistress told me about?” Lucifer asks as he watches Matilda disappear into the crowd. 

“Yes. I think I convinced her.”

“We’ll celebrate once she signs the contract.” Despite his cautious statement, Lucifer pats Draco on the back, equally proud of Draco as he is himself. 

*

The afternoon minding the Auror ability tests oscillates between fun and second-hand embarrassment. 

Both Harry and Ron are surprised how well-trained the students already are in various curses and hexes, yet once they move on to target practice, it is a different story entirely. 

The thing is, while magic compensates for bad aim, it only works to some extent. Practice helps, but a natural talent doesn’t go amiss. 

Ron and Harry really enjoy showing off if they are being honest. 

“Next – Anastasia Vane!” Harry calls out, glancing at the self-updating list of students who want to try their luck with moving targets. “Wait, Vane?”

The girl in question has the same dark eyes, dark hair, and delicate features that Harry remembers all too vividly from his time at Hogwarts, yet the emblem on her robes places her in Slytherin. 

“Yes, my sister is Romilda; let’s not talk about it ever again,” Anastasia announces, wand already drawn. 

Harry blinks. “That’s a brilliant idea. Do you want to have a trial run with a stationary target?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

Intrigued by her confident attitude, Harry flicks his wand at the dummy, which starts to dart across the half of the room designated to it. Two sharp turns in there is a blast and Anastasia’s curse hits the figure right in the chest, careening it backwards into the wall. 

“That was – very good.”

Anastasia smiles. “Is there a more difficult setting?”

Harry recognises the challenge and rises to it, sending the dummy through the room at extra speed with the ability to dodge hexes. Anastasia misses at first, even though it is a narrow miss, but tries once more, twice, and then anticipates the figure’s turn, hitting it again with one of the strongest Reductos Harry has ever seen a student fire. 

Anastasia sees Harry’s gobsmacked expression and raises a coy eyebrow. “Growing up in a war is great training, wouldn’t you say?”

Of course – if she is 17 now, she was 11, maybe 12 when Voldemort took control. Judging by the look in her eyes, she has seen her fair share of violence first hand. Harry can tell since sometimes, his eyes look similar. 

“Are you by any chance interested in joining the Auror Department?” he asks the girl with a smile. 

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Anastasia smiles. “And then I’ll join the Hit Wizards.”

“Then I’ll be happy to see you in training in September.” Harry nods at her as she turns to leave. 

He definitely will have to tell Robards about this girl. Harry is rarely impressed by new recruits – he is known for shouting at them, truth be told – yet this is one he thinks he can endorse. 

*

That evening, the school is hosting dinner in the Great Hall for the exhibitors as well as the sixth and seventh years while the other students have been banished to eat in their respective common rooms. The House tables are still missing, instead the Hall fills with enough round ones to seat all the guests as well as hold the food while the platform transforms into a stage. 

Both Professor McGonagall and Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, who arrived about an hour prior, address the guests and praise the event. 

Lucifer tunes out after two minutes, distracting himself with his own private schemes. As soon as the dinner is over and everyone is welcome to stay and talk, Lucifer makes his move. 

“What do you say, Draco, Harry? We should show our American guest what he missed by not attending Hogwarts.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, clearly interested yet resolved not to show it. 

Draco and Harry exchange a glance. Apparently they have developed telepathic abilities for both shake their heads without speaking first. 

“I wouldn’t want to steer up old memories,” Draco explains. “But I’m sure you’re just as good a tour guide as we are.” Draco’s smile is sweet as he turns towards Sam. “Unless you don’t want to see the castle?”

“Oh, I do. I’ve been worried I might get lost on my own…”

“If the staircases are still as mean as they were twenty years ago, you would have,” Lucifer chimes in, which earns him a narrow-eyed glance from Draco. 

“Only twenty?” 

“Yes.”

Sam snorts. “Which year did you graduate?”

“I’m a proud member of the class of nineteen-eighty-“ Lucifer pauses for the tenth of a second, if at all, “two.”

“You had to think,” Harry states the obvious. “How old are you actually? I never really asked.”

“In my late thirties.”

“I revised everyone’s contract,” Sam answers, unbidden, “and he’s in fact forty-four.”

“You were in school with my parents!” Harry exclaims out of the blue but Lucifer is grateful for the distraction. He does not need another reminder that he is actually twice as old as Sam. 

“Two years above them. Never had contact with either of them since I was too clever to fall victim to their ridiculous pranks.”

Harry’s enthusiasm wanes a little, yet he doesn’t seem done with the subject so Lucifer focuses his most innocent smile on the man next to him. 

“So, Sammy, ready for a little tour?”

Ten minutes later finds them in the dungeons, where Lucifer explains the concept of the separate common rooms and dormitories, the password protection, and the secret passages. Silent pride washes over him when he still manages to remember some of them, sparing Sam and him a few trips on mean staircases. 

Lucifer leads him past old classrooms and points out aspects of the grounds when they reach windows that face the right direction until they end up in the largest tower, which is mercifully deserted. 

“Is this the part where you kill me and chop me into pieces?” Sam jokes as they reach the circular staircase leading onto the roof of the Astronomy tower. 

“No, this is the part where I seduce you,” he replies, his voice husky and rough already and all he has done is press his body flush against Sam’s. 

Sam’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I bet this is where you took all the boys back in the day.”

“Oh, sometimes we snuck onto the roof but that’s no fun when it’s not completely dark yet,” he whispers between licking Sam’s throat. 

“Merlin, do I feel special.” Sarcasm drips off every syllable but Lucifer is prepared. 

He slides to his knees gracefully and blinks up at the other man, his mouth dangerously close to his crotch. 

“There’s one thing I have never done here.”

“Oh?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

Sam’s breath catches and he nods, which propels Lucifer into action. He rubs against Sam’s cock through his robes until he can feel it fill, then pushes the clothes out of the way to get a firm grip on Sam’s erection. 

There is still a possibility that someone might come up here, even though Lucifer put up wards a little way back, but still – he better make it quick. 

He squeezes Sam’s arse in his hands as he takes him into his mouth, all the way back, then pulls off again slowly, ensuring there is enough saliva to facilitate that which will follow. Two nudges are all it takes for Sam to get with the programme and then there are two large hands in Lucifer’s hair, holding him in place as Sam fucks into him at an increasing pace. All he can do is slacken his jaw and loose himself in the feeling of heavy flesh on his tongue. 

He knows the cues, listens for them now, and as soon as Sam’s breathing changes, Lucifer moves his hands to Sam’s hips, holding him still so he can pull off. 

He makes sure that his eyes are several shades darker when he looks up, catching Sam’s non-verbal question. 

“I want you to shag me against the wall.”

Sam’s cock twitches against Lucifer’s cheek and the next moment, Sam hauls him up, doesn’t even need Lucifer to help because his feet bloody leave the ground for a moment there and then he feels cold stone against his face and Sam’s hands on his arse, performing the proper spells. 

Lucifer braces himself on his hands, groaning when all Sam does is lube him up and then stretch him by hand. Without thinking, he pushes back once he feels the cockhead against his entrance. 

“Greedy,” Sam chuckles near his right ear. “Come on.”

A shiver courses through Lucifer’s body at the bossy tone and he moves back further, taking Sam inch by inch. The lawyer doesn’t budge, doesn’t step closer when he finally starts sliding in and out slowly, so only Lucifer’s hands touch the wall. A hand on his back pushes him down further and the second one returns to his hair, pulling up, bending his body into different directions. The stretch combined with the pressure in his arse makes Lucifer’s cock throb because his cock doesn’t seem to care how degrading the position actually is.

But then Sam hits his prostate and all complaints evaporate into gasps and aborted moans as Sam moves in him, fast and rough and oh so good until the heat pools low in Lucifer’s stomach before he even gets a chance to touch his cock. 

He comes with the force of a Stunning Spell, coating the wall with semen and clenching around Sam’s length. 

“Fuck,” Sam pants, moving both hands to Lucifer’s hip for better leverage and pounds into him. Four, five thrusts is all it takes until Sam, too, groans low in his throat and comes inside of him. 

They both sag to the ground rather embarrassingly and Lucifer ends up half in Sam’s lap since the alcoves might have seemed spacious as teenagers but they are not enough to accommodate six foot four of muscular lawyer. 

Both their trousers are around their knees, their groins exposed and Lucifer thinks he can feel Sam’s release trickle out of his opening obscenely. Well, it will only ruin Sam’s robes. 

Sam’s voice is soft when he asks, “No one really ever fucked you up here?” 

Lucifer shakes his head. “It was always me doing the shagging.”

His confession earns him a smile, even if it doesn’t come close to the declarations of devotion Sam probably wants from him. 

In that moment, basking in the afterglow before the position turns uncomfortable, everything is fine.

*

The Sunday edition of the Prophet features a six-page-spread about the career day, including several pictures. It doesn’t surprise Draco in the slightest when there is also one of Harry and him, yet the nature of the picture is somewhat unexpected. 

It was taken during one of the Kapralov Company’s stage performances in the evening to a song Draco knew from Muggle television, above all things. A catchy tune that was begging to be danced to, and when a few of the dancers spread out throughout the Great Hall to animate the audience, Draco let himself get carried away a little. He moved his hips at Harry, who was blushing furiously but still smiling and they shared a kiss once Draco had finished his performance. 

A photographer caught that exact moment; Draco dancing seductively and them sharing a sweet kiss and now it is plastered all over the newspaper. 

“I like it,” Harry passes judgement when he sees what has Draco so transfixed on the page. “We could cut it out and put it on your fridge!”

Which is exactly what Draco does. It is the first picture of Harry and him together and even though he would never admit to it, every time he looks at it, a warm feeling settles in his chest. 

*

Lucifer breaks into Sam’s apartment on Sunday, bringing take out and a few sex toys, because Sam’s bedside table is too empty in that regard. 

That night he ties Sam up, face down on the bed with his feet spread apart and a cock ring fastened around the base of Sam’s erection, and eats him out for a solid hour until the lawyer can’t even whimper coherently anymore. 

With a flick of his wrist he flips the man over, his eyes gliding across the abs and chest laid out in front of him. Sam’s body is taut, his cock a dark red and dripping with precome, his pupils blown wide and clouded with pleasure. 

Lucifer is too far gone himself to think of anything other than stroking himself to completion, his spunk covering Sam’s torso and mixing with his own when Lucifer unfastens the cock ring and Sam positively explodes. 

It takes a short nap to reboot his brain, and then Lucifer notices how thirsty he is so he heads into the kitchen and gets himself some water. 

The sound of soft footsteps tells him Sam followed him out of the bedroom but then there is a sound he can’t identify. When he turns around, Sam is leaning against the kitchen island, still fully naked, but on the counter top lies something that almost looks like… 

“What is that?” Lucifer asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Sam doesn’t respond with sarcasm, doesn’t taunt him. He simply says, “A key. So you don’t need to undo the warding every time you visit.”

Lucifer swallows. “It really doesn’t take me long to break in, you know.”

A moment passes without a reply. “Just take it, okay? I’m heading back to bed.”

Sam turns around and Lucifer appreciates the view of defined back muscles and that fine arse of his until the man disappears around the corner. 

He spends a few minutes staring at the key in contemplative silence. It seems like such a small gesture, yet Lucifer knows how much it means. More importantly, he gets that this might be Sam’s last attempt to reach out. But what’s next? Flowers? Candlelight dinners? Romantic strolls through London at night? He really shouldn’t accept this, but…

Merlin be damned - screw it. 

Lucifer _wants_ to take that key. So he will take it. End of story. 

He places the glass in the sink, pockets the key, and leaves. 

*

Draco is sitting in his office on Monday, unsuspecting and immersed in a file when his mobile phone rings. 

It makes him jump since he still doesn’t receive that many calls to have grown accustomed to the monophonic sound, yet he recovers swiftly and retrieves the device. 

“Jo?” He answers after checking the called ID. “Everything all right?”

“Don’t worry, everything is fine,” comes Jo’s voice. He sounds nervous despite his assurance to the contrary. 

“So why the call?” Jo usually texts. 

“I have a favour to ask. A large favour and I really hope you will agree to help me out, even though I could understand if you have to decline –“

“Jo, I basically owe you my life; just tell me what it is.” 

Draco waits impatiently for Jo to draw a deep breath and explain. “I’ve decided to propose.”

“Propose?”

“To Emerson.”

“What, you’re going to ask him to _marry_ you?” Draco doesn’t really know why he is so surprised. After all, the two Muggles are deeply in love. And isn’t that what one does when one is in love? Marry? 

“Yes. I’d like to ask him on Saturday, and this is what I’ll need your help with.”

“Oh, no worries, I have great taste in jewellery.”

“I already have a ring, Draco… My late father’s, as a matter of fact. I was more concerned with the venue.”

Draco has an inkling where this might be going.

“I know that Em would love to visit that magical district you and Harry have told us about, yet Em is too polite to ask you to take him. I was thinking you could maybe take us on Saturday and make reservations at a restaurant there, and before we eat I would like to ask him.”

“Jo –“

“I know, I remember Harry’s speech about the Statute of Secrecy very well, and it’s not that we want to tell other people, I’d simply like to fulfil this fantasy of his.”

“Jo –“

“I know I’m putting you on the spot with my request, but –“

“Jo! It’s fine!” Draco finally manages to assure him. “It sounds like a wonderful idea and I’ll gladly help. Merlin, we could even have an owl drop off the ring when you’re ready to spring the question on him.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Thank you.”

“Want to meet me for lunch tomorrow to work out the details?”

“Gladly.”

*

Which is how Draco finds himself waiting in front of the Leaky Cauldron on Saturday morning, biding his time until Jo and Emerson arrive. 

“Where are we going?” Draco hears the younger man ask as the pair approaches, sounding like he has been trying to pump Jo for information for a while now. 

“You’ll see,” his partner assures him and greets Draco with a hug. 

Em’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Does that mean…?”

“Follow me.” Smirking, Draco nods in the direction of the pub which neither Em nor Jo are able to see, yet with his guidance, he manoeuvres them through the Leaky Cauldron and out back. Emerson is still talking about the floating glasses behind the bar when Draco produces his wand to tap the bricks. 

It has been a while since he used this entrance, but he manages to open the gate with little trouble and then the space opens up, revealing the beauty that is Diagon Alley on a busy but sunny Saturday afternoon. 

“I’ll need to alter your clothes,” Draco warns them as he flicks his wand at the men. The spell doesn’t change their clothes per se, it only alters their outward appearance. To the common passer-by, Jo and Emerson will appear to be wearing modest Wizarding robes. 

“Blimey,” Em breathes out, looking down his torso and then Jo’s. “Robes suit you, sir,” he smirks and Draco laughs when Jo actually blushes. 

Draco explains the street’s layout, hands over the pouch with money he converted for Jo so that they can buy a thing or two (Draco agreed to Muggle-prove their purchases so they won’t get them in trouble), and sets out for his appointment with Aphrodite. 

Draco tells the witch about his week, the romantic drama at work, and why he was here so early. 

“Do you think Emerson will accept?”

“Or course! I’d bet every amount of money on it.”

“Have you ever thought about marriage?”

Draco hesitates. “Not in the conventional sense.” Aphrodite raises a questioning eyebrow. “If it hadn’t been for the war, I would have entered an arranged marriage, I’m fairly sure of that. I have always been taught that marriage is more of a political decision than anything else. My parents were lucky to fall for each other the way that they did. But merging the Houses of Malfoy and Black took precedence over their feelings.”

“So you aren’t pursuing marriage plans?”

Draco shrugs, then aborts the movement and shakes his head decidedly. “Don’t misunderstand me – I love Harry. But I’m not nourishing a desire to tie the knot.”

“And how does Harry feel about that?”

“I guess I shall find out,” Draco responds loftily. 

“Oh?”

“He’s joining Jo, Em, and me for lunch after his session to celebrate the engagement.”

Aphrodite drops the topic then, seemingly satisfied, and asks Draco about his sex life, which leads to a twenty minute discussion about why bottoming for Harry worked fine on Sunday but made Draco panic on Wednesday. 

“Were you under a lot of stress that day?”

“Not particularly.”

“What about the position? Did it remind you of what Steward did to you?”

Draco thinks back, remembering how both times had taken place in bed, though with one crucial difference. 

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“On Sunday, I was on my back. I could see him. I thought I’d try something new on Wednesday…” Draco massages the bridge of his nose. “But I don’t get it! It’s Harry! Harry’s safe ground and I never forgot that it was him all that time and I still tensed up!”

“Draco, you’ve made tremendous progress already, but –“

“If your next words are going to be ‘healing takes time’ I’ll seriously curse you.”

Aphrodite chuckles, not at all disturbed by Draco’s outburst. “Your mind isn’t logical. Emotions don’t follow strict patterns. Things like this happen. Don’t let them discourage you.” 

She shifts in her chair like she always does when their time is nearing its end. 

Draco takes the cue and rises from his chair. “Don’t worry – like I will stop sleeping with Harry Potter. That man’s a sex god!” He winks, bids his goodbye, and wonders if his jib was enough to make her slightly uncomfortable for when Harry comes in a few minutes. 

Probably not. Draco still hasn’t managed to crack the woman’s poker face, excuse the Muggle phrase. 

He wanders the streets and does some window shopping, checking his phone covertly every two minutes for a message from Jo. 

It comes forty-five minutes later, telling him where they are and that Emerson is trying to convince him to buy a broom. 

They are still in the same location when Draco spies them. 

“I’d even use it to dust my apartment!”

“I doubt they are made for dusting.”

“I’ll make do, Jo, I will.”

“Em, I’m not even sure the broom would listen to you since you don’t have magic.”

“I’ll just ask Draco later,” he pouts and Draco sends the text, watching Jo’s hand feel for the phone in his pockets. The vibration is enough to notify him of Draco’s presence, so Jo begins leading Em off the busy main road and into a side street while Draco summons his owl, which Harry promised to release in Diagon Alley before he went to Aphrodite. 

The plan works perfectly. Jo steers the conversation to focus on the future, only stumbles twice over his own words before Draco releases his owl carrying the elegant blue box. The animal lands on Jo’s shoulder like they rehearsed, dropping the box into Jo’s palm and hooting softly before flying off. 

Draco even stole the camera Harry got for his latest birthday and never uses, silencing it with a spell and taking pictures of the entire thing. Jo drops on one knee and Emerson shrieks and Jo can’t put the ring on his finger fast enough before Em lunges at him, kissing him breathless. 

When Draco emerges and reveals himself as co-conspirator, there is hugging and a few tears on Em’s part, and yes, even Jo’s eyes are shining. Draco leads them to the restaurant he picked out where Harry is waiting and they find their seats quickly. 

Draco orders champagne, proclaims everyone invited, and they clink glasses. 

It is relaxed and happy with Harry looking at him from across the table with bright green eyes and Emerson debating what kind of wedding they are going to have.  
“Sam gets an invite, too! And he has to bring a date,” Em decides, cheeks flushed a bit from the champagne and the food. 

“You think said date will be Lucifer?” Jo wonders, looking at Draco expectantly. 

“If the bloody Wicca gets his act together before Sam walks out of him, certainly.”

They chuckle and move on to less uncertain topics, like dessert. 

*

When they are back at Draco’s flat – no, their flat, Harry corrects himself mentally – the mood soon turns awkward. 

They have never discussed marriage or their future together and seeing Draco’s best friend propose and Harry’s best friends announce they are having a child kind of puts a lot out there. 

“So,” Harry says slowly with no idea how to finish that sentence. 

“So,” Draco echoes, meeting Harry’s eyes. 

“I don’t have a ring for you,” Harry blurts, cursing the fact that his brain-to-mouth filter choses this exact situation to fail. “I mean… I… Damn, I don’t know what I’m even saying.”

Draco raises and eyebrow, looking amused and a tad – relieved? 

“I guess you’re saying you won’t ask me to marry you any time soon. If ever. Am I right?”

Harry has no choice but to shrug helplessly. “I’m sorry. I just never… I do want to marry some day. I want a family. But with so much going on, with the renovation, me needing to keep a high profile at work and you busy with your new firm… It doesn’t feel like the time to, you know. Jump the broom.”

Draco barks out a laugh. “Jump the broom? Of course you’re going with that term…” He sobers up quickly, for which Harry is grateful since he is becoming ever more nervous in his spot by the fridge. “Don’t worry, Harry. I’ve never really wanted a ring. And I don’t expect one from you any time soon.”

Harry feels the weight that has been sitting on his shoulders ever since Draco invited him to the celebratory lunch fall off him. 

“Thank Merlin,” he whispers and pulls Draco in for a kiss, one hand gripping the nape of his neck, the other settling on his hip. 

They have all afternoon and no plans so Harry takes his time, explores Draco’s mouth without urgency, enjoying the feel of him against his body, thumb rubbing circles into Draco’s skin through his robes. Draco sneaks a hand underneath Harry’s shirt, stroking his lower back, and Harry moans into the kiss, pulling him closer. 

Their groins slot together almost out of reflex, growing erections pressing against one another, and Harry is more than happy to let Draco set the rhythm with leisurely rolls of his hips. 

Harry presses soft kisses along Draco’s jaw, licks down his throat, and then falls to his knees, looking up at his partner with a silent question in his eyes. Draco’s pupils darken as he takes in the sight, licks his lips, and leans back against the fridge, leaving Harry to do all the work. 

Harry noses along the shaft through too many layers, intent on driving Draco a little mad before he proceeds, pressing the heel of his palm against the hardening length. 

Draco groans above him. “Sodding tease, Potter.”

“You love it, Malfoy,” Harry replies with a smile, opening Draco’s robes at a glacial pace. His initial plan of drawing it out more, waiting before undressing Draco completely flies out of the window when Harry sees the flushed head of Draco’s cock peak out from black pants, beading precome and begging to be licked. 

Harry does just that, lapping at the tip with the shaft still covered, which earns him a satisfying growl. 

“Get on with it,” Draco grates, his knuckles white where he is holding onto the edge of the fridge. 

“I think you’ve become spoiled,” Harry chides, taking Draco’s erection between thumb and index finger, wanking him through the pants. Harry knows it’s not nearly enough. 

“Like you’d do any better in my position.”

“But I’m not… I’m on my knees, about to blow your mind.”

“I’d rather you blow something else, Potter.” Draco punctuates his impatience by tilting his hips forward, pushing his erection into Harry’s hand and finally he takes pity on him. 

Harry slips his fingers underneath the waistband of Draco’s underwear, pulling them down until they drop to the ground, where they pool around Draco’s ankles with his trousers. 

It has been a while since Harry had the chance to simply look at Draco, take in the long shaft, flushed tip and the slight dust of blond hair in Draco’s groin. He knows how the rest of him looks, too, how pink his pucker is behind his testicles, how perky his arse is, how well it fits into Harry’s hands. 

“I’m not a bloody exhibit in a museum, damn it!”

“Just enjoying the view.”

“Harry,” Draco keens, rutting up into nothing. 

“All right, all right,” Harry chuckles, leaning in, deliberately only licking at the slit, sweeping up the precome that has gathered there. 

He repeats the motion all over Draco’s cock, making it wet with saliva and teasing the vein at the underside of it until Draco’s thighs are trembling from the effort to hold himself back. 

“I could do this all afternoon,” Harry murmurs against Draco’s balls before sucking either one into his mouth separately. “Lick you and tease you and never actually suck you off until you lose your patience and just claim my mouth…”

Harry trails off when Draco’s cock twitches against Harry’s lips. 

“I swear to Merlin, Harry, I’ll do exactly that if you don’t get fucking on with it!”

Harry winds his hands around Draco’s torso, gripping his arse and squeezing. “Then do it,” he challenges, voice low and a shiver of arousal coursing down his spine. He nudges Draco’s hips, proving he means it, and opens his mouth, which is almost but not quite touching Draco’s erection. 

Draco’s eyes are blown wide when he looks down and it only takes a moment before Draco’s hands leave the fridge and grip Harry’s messy hair, pulling him forward. 

It has been a while since they did this, both too eager to shag each other stupid despite a few setbacks, and Harry almost forgot how amazing it feels to have Draco just fuck into him. He slackens his jaw and holds onto Draco’s hips, daring Draco to tighten his hold in his hair and thrust harder into his mouth. 

Harry can feel the glans hitting the back of his throat and Draco just holds him in place, waiting for him to swallow, muscles contracting around the tip. Draco echoes Harry’s moan, drawing back just enough to slam back in moments later, pushing deeper this time and it’s too much. Harry has to shove a hand down the front of his trousers, barely managing to undo the fly and the zipper, fingers finally closing over his neglected erection. 

They find a rhythm, Draco fucking his mouth while Harry is rutting up into his fist, swallowing when he feels Draco’s cock right there until Draco’s breath is so ragged that Harry knows the man is close. 

Harry resists Draco’s pull to get him off his cock, decidedly closes his lips around the shaft and flicks his tongue at the slit, massaging the frenulum. 

“Harry,” Draco gasps, the only warning Harry gets before his mouth is flooded with Draco’s release. He swallows it all, licks Draco clean while stroking himself fast and hard, until he, too, spills all over the floor. 

Hands on his shoulders pull him up and then Draco is kissing him, probably tasting himself and Harry’s spent cock gives a feeble twitch at the thought. 

“I’m thinking a shower and then spending the rest of the evening in bed,” Draco suggests between kisses. 

“Best idea you had all day,” Harry whispers, one hand holding up his trousers and pants. 

“Come on, then.” There is a glint in Draco’s eyes and when he smiles at Harry, unabashed and happy and open, Harry feels his heart skip a beat. 

They really are good, Harry realises then. With or without a ring.

*

*

L&D’s third week in business is no less stressful than the previous two, Lucifer soon finds out. Not that he was expecting anything less, even with Gabriel there to shoulder some of the workload. 

And maybe if Gabriel stopped increasing their workload, that hypothesis might even stand. Instead, his brother is taking people to lunch and dinner, explaining why their fortune is safest at L&D, how the firm’s business model will set the standard for the future. 

The latter is mostly Draco’s doing. There is such a thing as too much exposure to Muggle culture, Lucifer thinks, when Draco teams up with their technician Charlie to find out of the Muggle idea of electronic cash would be transferable to the Wizarding World. 

“That’s awesome!” is Sam’s reaction when Lucifer shows up in his office, hoping for the lawyer to put an end to the madness with some legal jabber and a pat on Draco’s back. 

“Pardon?”

“My Dad used to pay with credit card when we were undercover with Muggles; it’s incredibly useful and no one needs to carry actual money around anymore. I wonder why no one’s come up with it for Wizards before now!”

“Because we can shrink everything we have, including money,” Lucifer grumbles, which Sam seems to find amusing. 

“I don’t get it, seriously. Why are purebloods always so opposed to change? Change is good, look at the Muggles and what they’ve accomplished with technology already! It’s only gonna get more advanced. And if we had a similar system, living amongst Muggles would be easier.”

“Next thing we know you’re going to suggest to speak to the Muggle Prime Minister to integrate the electronic system thing into our network-to-be,” Lucifer mutters, not intending for Sam to catch it but of course he does. 

“That’s an even better idea! Does Draco know about it already?”

“Draco suggested it, Sammy. Come on, tell me why this won’t be legally feasible.”

“Well, initially it might be a bit complicated, but magic can protect financial flows better than Muggle tech. If we get the goblins on board, they’ll come up with wards that guarantee maximum security.”

Lucifer heaves a sigh and barely manages to hold back a groan. 

“It’s worth a try, Lucifer.”

“Fine. Don’t help me.”

“Like you could hold a grudge against me.”

“Don’t try me, Sammy.”

With a dangerous leer that sends a shiver down Lucifer’s spine Sam rises from his chair and rounds the desk, stepping close enough that Lucifer can feel puffs of warm breath against his cheeks. 

“Oh, but riling you up is fun,” he purrs. “You get so rough when you’re pissed off.”

Sam leans in, his breath ghosting over Lucifer’s lips, and tilts his head slightly until their lips are almost touching. They are breathing the same air, the moments between them charged with tension, but instead of whirling Sam around and slamming him into the door behind him, Lucifer lets his lips curl into a smirk. 

“If you’re so excited about this idea, you’ll have no problem tagging along on Friday. Draco plans on chatting with the Head of the Department of Finance.”

Sam’s eyes narrow first, then widen as the provocative demeanour falls off him. 

“Are you inviting me to the Lycanthrope Ball with you?”

“Are you busy?”

Sam blinks. “No.”

“Expect me to pick you up at 6.55 sharp. You’ll be wearing a suit. L&D dress code for the evening.” 

Before Sam has time to retrieve his jaw from the floor, Lucifer turns around and leaves, retreating into his office. 

Well. 

So maybe he would have to let Draco and Charlie dabble in revolutionising payment systems. At least he would see Sam wearing a suit. Not too bad a compromise. And if the Winchester thinks of Friday night as a date… maybe that’s not the worst that could happen either. 

*

“Mate, I swear, if I hear the word ‘napkin pattern’ one more time I’ll kill myself,” Ron complains on Friday during their lunch break. “I mean, they had weeks and weeks to plan this stuff and now that’s not working and this looks awful and what the heck is blood orange anyway? I saw the samples – Mione spread them all over the kitchen table – and it’s red, for Merlin’s sake!”

“We get it, Ron,” Graham tries to soothe him, but it has the opposite effect. 

“I don’t even get why it’s so important which colour the sodding ribbons have! It’s a political event, bloody hell, the folks are there for the speeches and to throw money around…”

“It’ll all be over by tomorrow,” Harry placates his best friend, too far gone with his thoughts to be more effective about it though. 

The Prosecutors’ file may be closed but there are still enough crimes to keep the Aurors busy. On top of that, Harry has to check in with the contractors at Grimmauld Place every few days because the old house seems to fight the renovation with every ounce of black magic it possesses. Solving the problem means either a change of plans or bringing in an experienced – and more expensive – curse breaker. 

Furthermore, Harry has finally decided what to do with the money he made from selling the artefacts (and damn, it was a lot of money), which meant he needs to coordinate with Hermione so they could make the announcement at the Ball. 

If that weren’t enough on his plate already, Aphrodite has her mind set on addressing Harry’s issues and he feels like he lived through seventeen years’ worth of trauma within four therapy sessions. 

He feels hollow and vulnerable to the extent that even Draco notices. His partner is wonderful, though. Draco never pushes him or asks him to talk about therapy; doesn’t bring up the renovations, doesn’t say anything when Harry pours himself a whisky from time to time and is simply there with intimate touches and passionate kisses. 

Still, Harry’s stomach is in knots when he thinks about tonight. 

So many people he will know. Andromeda Tonks and his godson Teddy as guests of honour, serving as a constant reminder of all the people Harry lost in the past. Hermione was ecstatic when the guest list filled up and they needed to expand the venue, the number of expected guests approaching the 300 mark, yet it makes Harry’s blood freeze. 

Admittedly, at the Ministry’s Christmas party there were more people, but it was a different event entirely. Harry hadn’t needed to stay long; this time, there is a schedule with speeches and no cutting out early because it might throw a bad light on things and the last thing Harry wants to do is bring negative attention to the event. 

So he swallows his nervousness, finishes his shift, and returns home with enough time to take his broom out for a quick flight. Draco is back when he returns and sees right through him with those beautiful grey eyes. 

“You definitely need a shower,” he says, pulling Harry into a kiss nevertheless. “I think I might need one as well.”

They have to make it quick – they are aiming for fashionably late, not actually late, after all – but the orgasm does wonders to relax Harry. 

Right until they reach the Ball, that is. 

Draco looks breath-taking in his black suit, black shirt, and black tie, making Harry feel underdressed in his navy blue suit and white shirt. He left the tie at home, knowing fully well it would only annoy him later. 

It is an extravagant event so all the other guests are wearing intricate dress robes, while half the women chose traditional wear and the other more liberal clothes, much like those Harry has sometimes seen Muggles wear on Draco’s television. 

When they enter the hotel Hermione booked for the Ball, Harry is momentarily stunned. 

“Wow,” he whispers as he takes in the luxurious décor and marble stairs leading to the ballrooms according to the signs floating at the side. 

“I take it you’ve never stayed at a high-end hotel?” Draco sneers good-naturedly, seemingly unaffected by the extravagant interior. 

“The Auror Department never has much of a budget for accommodation and you know it.” Harry forces his tone to stay light despite the tension in his shoulders. 

“We should stay in one then.”

“When would we need to?”

Draco shrugs but his eyes are sparkling. “Maybe when we are going on vacation together?” 

Harry’s mouth splits into a wide smile at the thought. “I’d love that!”

He has never actually been on vacation, except for once right after graduation when Hermione, Ron, and him took a trip to Spain, decidedly not camping. Harry paid for a modest hotel, which Ron even allowed him to do after much protesting. 

Vacation with Draco, though… Harry’s mind fills with images of long beaches, sunny days, and Draco complaining about sunburn and sand everywhere. 

“And he knows how to smile after all,” Draco teases as they ascend the staircase. “That’s fake marble, by the way. Don’t let it fool you.”

Harry chuckles. As if he cared. 

They decide to wait in the foyer for Lucifer and Sam, who will take the two remaining seats at the table reserved, initially, for the organizers. And Harry, apparently. He might have objected if he didn’t find the prospect of Draco and him sitting at a table with ten strangers absolutely terrifying. 

Bloody hell, they are only people. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. 

Harry busies himself with drinking champagne as Draco goes over tonight’s plan once more, making Harry promise yet again to fetch Draco immediately if he sees Colin Oberyn, in charge of the Ministry’s Finance Department. 

There are only five minutes left until they have to take their seats when they glimpse Lucifer, in a perfectly tailored suit but with two shirt buttons undone, enter the foyer from the staircase, Sam right next to him. 

Now Harry’s idea of male beauty is unquestionably Draco, yet when he sees Sam he would be lying if he pretends he isn’t looking. 

The lawyer is also wearing as Muggle suit, not as expensive as Lucifer’s but still a perfect fit. The cut accentuates his broad shoulders and narrow waist, showing off his muscled chest and arms. 

“Do I need to be jealous?” Draco wonders next to him. Harry does his best to ease his worries with a kiss. 

“It’s adorable that you two don’t even notice the cameras,” Lucifer’s voice interrupts them after the man has apparently sauntered over to their table, Sam tagging after him with wide eyes and equally impressed with the location as Harry was. 

“It can’t be worse than me dancing at Hogwarts,” Draco shoots back, glancing around for the reporters. 

“Oh, that picture was priceless,” a familiar voice buds in, unbidden. Harry’s default reaction to her is to glare – not that Rita Skeeter seems at all bothered. 

“Miss Skeeter,” Lucifer greets her with a smile. “I was hoping you would cover this event.”

“Don’t be droll, Mr Milton. I’m here to write about the draft bill, not how dashing your boy toy looks in a suit.” Her eyes rake over Sam’s body, causing him to shift uncomfortably. 

“And that’s a good thing, we’re here for the cause, after all,” Lucifer regains her attention. 

“You don’t say? So have you donated yet, Mr Milton? Or made up your mind about the sum?”

“Can I count on your discretion if I show you the cheque?”

Skeeter’s eyes are on fire. “Certainly.”

With dramatic flourish, Lucifer reaches into his chest pocket and retrieves a slip of parchment. Harry doesn’t see the number, though judging by the way Skeeter’s eyes almost fall out of their sockets, it’s more than generous.

Lucifer and Draco exchange a smirk. Sam rolls his eyes. Harry sighs. 

“What about you, Mr Malfoy?” she asks once she has recovered. 

“I already donated,” Draco replies, slipping a hand around Harry’s waist, apparently sensing his discomfort. “I’m sure Mrs Granger-Weasley will be able to confirm the fact.”

“Oh, I know the Malfoys never joke about money. I’ll be on my merry way, then – unless Mr Potter will defy the odds and speak to me?”

Harry gives her an icy smile, which she takes in stride and winks at them. Even the motion manages to annoy him. 

“That hag,” he grouses, leaning more into Draco’s side. 

“Now, now, she has her uses,” Lucifer chides. “But you have to play nice.”

A ringing sound saves Harry from actually answering and the remaining crowd makes its way into the ballroom. Almost thirty tables adorn the room, ten to twelve chairs each. Both the tables and the chairs are draped in white, decorated with ribbons in fashionable places. The colour scheme, which according to Ron includes blood orange, seems more like a reddish and brown kind of deal, but then what does Harry know. 

It looks amazing and he tells Hermione as much as they meet her at a table in the front row. Harry introduces Lucifer and Sam to everyone and while they are still standing, Lucifer retrieves the parchment again. 

“May I rid myself of this before we start and you are too busy to appreciate it?” He fixes Hermione with his most charming smile and hands over the cheque, which renders her speechless for a solid minute before she thanks him profusely. 

“Not at all, Mrs Granger-Weasley. After all, L&D will count a werewolf amongst our employees come September.”

“Really?” Harry whispers to Draco. 

“Matilda set up a meeting for next week,” the blond explains. “Her letter sounded very interested.”

“That’s great!” 

“Yeah, and turns Lucifer’s ridiculous amount of money into more than expensive publicity. At least he took it out of his own funds.”

“Aw, is someone jealous because his business partner is richer than him?”

“Bite me, Potter.”

“Later, I might,” Harry flirts back.

Whatever response Draco had prepared dies in the applause that accompanies Hermione on stage for her opening speech. 

*

Lucifer tries to relax into his chair and pay attention to the event, yet he fails spectacularly. It isn’t that the speeches are bad – they aren’t nearly as boring as he feared they would be and the food is rather decent, in fact – but the key in his breast pocket is burning a hole through his suit and it is distracting. 

As is Sam. 

By Merlin, Lucifer knew the man would look good in a suit but nothing in the world could have prepared him for the reality of it. When he isn’t thinking about the key, Lucifer’s thoughts circle around the best way to divest Sam of his clothes without hurting the material. Maybe he shouldn’t undress the man, leave the suit on while he shags him in the coat room… 

After the opening speech, a few words from Kingsley Shacklebolt, an emotional portrayal of lycanthrope struggles from a young woman working as a pre-school teacher, and hymns of praise regarding the Lycanthrope Rights Movement from its most prominent spokesperson, Hermione Granger-Weasley takes the stage again. 

The schedule next to the menu on their table indicates she is going to speak about planned changes the new legislation will bring about if it is passed and Lucifer even manages to listen. 

Three seats down the table he notices how Draco takes Harry’s hand and squeezes it, the Boy Who Lived looking even greener than when Lucifer greeted him two and a half hours ago. 

“It is with great pleasure,” Hermione proclaims on stage, “that I can announce another measure that will be undertaken, even if the bill doesn’t pass. With the help of the Department for Family and Education in cooperation with the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Mr Harry Potter will found an orphanage for children with magic of all ages, which will specialise in caring for young lycanthropes. It will be known as the Remus Lupin Centre For Magical Youth.”

Hermione pauses to take a breath and is interrupted by a bout of spontaneous applause. Lucifer joins in, genuinely enthusiastic, and watches as Harry sinks into his chair as if trying to melt into it. 

“In case you are interested in the project, please approach Mrs and Mr Ramirez from Child Care.” The couple rises when Hermione points them out in the back row with the rest of the Ministry staff. 

Granger rounds off her speech well and tells them all to enjoy dessert and not be too shy when the band starts playing and the dance floor will be open. 

“Did you help Harry out with the reimbursement from Jones?” Lucifer asks Draco after the last course appeared in front of them. 

“No, he’s financing it all on his own. Didn’t I tell you he’s renovating Grimmauld Place? You wouldn’t believe the treasures lying about there and the idiot wanted to throw them away.”

“And now the gain from selling the stuff to collectors will go to werewolf cubs,” Harry adds. “Mrs Black will turn over in her grave.”

Lucifer joins in the laughter, yet when he remembers the key and what he might do tonight, he sobers up quickly. Dessert is over much too soon for his liking and the band has hardly played its first notes when the dance floor begins to fill. 

Draco and Sam still have a task to fulfil tonight – finding the minister of finance and maybe roping Shacklebolt into the conversation as well – so Lucifer can procrastinate what he intends to do for a little while longer. 

*

Harry knew that announcing his plans for the orphanage at the Ball would lead to lots of people wanting to talk to him, yet tonight’s event is the best occasion to gather support and maybe find a few more investors.

 _Stop fretting so much_ , he tells himself. _This is for Remus. You can do it._

And really, when Draco and he start to mingle and the first guests approach Harry, there isn’t much to do except ‘sucking it up’.

He spends what feels like hours explaining what he has in mind for the youth centre, how they will cooperate with the lycanthrope community to ensure the infected children will learn all they need to in order to cope with their furry side, where the orphanage would be built and how it should be equipped. 

“So you’re saying you’d integrate Muggle technology into the recreational areas?” one elderly witch asks, sounding both appalled and fascinated at the same time. 

“I think it’s for the best – 60 per cent of all orphans are Muggle-born and used to a certain environment. It will facilitate their transition into the Wizarding community. And for children from magical families it will be educational to come into contact with Muggles as early as possible. Segregation is a thing of the past, ma’am.”

All in all, Harry considers the first two hours very successful.

*

Meanwhile at the other side of the room, Sam and Draco have finally found Colin Oberyn, a tall man with olive coloured skin and known for his strict austerity policy that allowed Britain to overcome the war’s aftermath with minimal harm to her resources. 

Of course, the reform Draco and Sam are suggesting to him would be expensive, so Sam doesn’t begrudge him his initial scepticism. 

“And you’re saying that’s the way Muggles pay? Without actual money?”

Sam barely holds back an eye-roll. Really, though – where are most wizards living? Under a rock? 

“Yes, and it’s fast and secure,” Sam explains, hoping he sounds more patient than he feels. “When I first came to Britain I had an American credit card and I was able to pay here as well without any problems. However, it took me a week to transfer all my Wizarding currency from America to Gringotts in London.”

“And with L&D as pioneers and the firm who will apply for a patent when the system has been developed and tested, all the Department of Magical Finance would have to do is pave the way legally speaking and enable us to coordinate our efforts with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, respectively the Prime Minister.”

Sam can’t help being awed by Draco’s diplomatic talent. He knew that, as a Malfoy, Draco was raised for filling influential positions, but seeing the man who is so confortable in jeans and button downs talk market monopoly with the minister of finance is another thing entirely. 

“Progress is a good thing, I have to hand it to you, young man,” Oberyn concedes, “especially when it won’t cost the government much. Kingsley!” he calls out, having spied the tall, dark man a few feet from them. 

_Holy shit, I’m going to meet the Minister for Magic_ , is all Sam has a chance to think before the man himself strides over, offering his hand first to Draco, then to Sam. 

“Mr Winchester, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Shacklebolt says and Sam swallows hard. 

“Likewise, sir.”

He prepared for this, since talking to both Oberyn and the Minister at the same time was their best-case scenario and both Draco and he know exactly how to present their idea. 

Shacklebolt listens attentively while Draco expands on what they are proposing, with Sam pitching in when the legal concerns come up and not tripping over his own words a single time. 

Which is a miracle, to be honest, since a few sentences in, Sam can feel eyes on him and a brief glance to the side confirms that those eyes in fact belong to Lucifer, who is talking to a couple in opulent dress robes. 

“This sounds like a sensible idea,” the Minister sums up once they are done, causing both Draco and Sam to break into large grins. “Owl me after the weekend and we’ll arrange a meeting with all necessary parties. And make sure you include your colleague, the lady who is so apt at computers.”

“With pleasure, sir,” Draco replies. They shake hands and part ways and Sam watches in fascination as Draco tries to school his features back into their usual calm exterior, yet fails more than he succeeds. 

“I’m going to look for Harry,” he announces, leaving Sam standing there, doing nothing to hide his smile. 

“It’s incredibly hot when you are in competent lawyer mode, Sammy,” Lucifer murmurs into his ear a moment later. Somehow, Sam must have missed the man approach. 

“Do you like it enough that you’ll be able to live with the fact that Oberyn thought our idea had potential?”

“Oh, didn’t I see the Minister smiling at you as well? You’re selling yourself short, Sam.” Lucifer punctuates his remark with a leer and then lets his eyes slide up and down Sam’s body. 

Oh no, Lucifer is going to seduce him in the coat room, isn’t he? 

“Come on,” the man tells him and takes off, not for a minute doubting that Sam will be right at his heels. 

Predictably, Lucifer leads him straight to a door into the foyer, somewhere off the crowd, producing a key chip from his pocket, which he undoubtedly bribed out of one of the service staff. Lucifer flashes a toothy grin and Sam is suddenly giddy with anticipation. 

He has to admit, he was incredibly happy after Lucifer oh-so-subtly invited him to tonight’s event, knowing fully well that he would be Lucifer’s plus one since he hadn’t bought an invitation. His salary at L&D might be amazing, yet he isn’t able to make big leaps financially at the moment and has to watch his expenses for a short while longer. 

And now? Well, Lucifer could have waited until they were leaving, then taken Sam home and fucked him there but instead he went to the trouble to get a key chip for, yes, it is the coat room. As far as Lucifer goes, Sam has to count this as a romantic gesture. 

“At first I wanted to get you out of this suit,” Lucifer says, his voice husky as he advances with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “But I don’t want to ruin the fabric…” He trails off, coming to a stop well inside Sam’s personal space. Their chests are almost touching. 

Sam takes quick stock of the room – the walls are lined with cloak hangers, filled with expensive cloaks. The window for the coat room worker might be closed but the sill is standing out underneath the shutters and there is hardly a patch of empty wall. 

Except for one, right next to the window, which is where Lucifer manoeuvres them, his hands on Sam’s chest, pushing him back. 

“All I could think about tonight was how delicious you look,” the man whispers into his ears, his hands roaming Sam’s body while his warm breath is ghosting over the exposed skin of his throat. “I couldn’t wait to get you alone and then you were acting so competent with Shacklebolt, radiating confidence…”

The praise is enough to make Sam’s head spin while Lucifer’s close proximity is making his dress pants grow tighter by the moment. He doesn’t dare touch Lucifer, though, afraid that it would break the moment or just falling into their little spiel in which Lucifer is acting so dominant that initiating a touch seems wrong to Sam somehow. 

Suddenly, a hand is cupping his cock through his trousers, drawing a gasp from his throat.

“Shush, Sammy,” Lucifer rasps, “or do you want them to hear us? Is that what you want? Me shagging you against the wall, making you scream so loud that every single one out there knows exactly what I’m doing to you?”

Sam shivers involuntarily. Not even Lucifer would go that far but Sam knows he has it in him, could if he actually wanted to and that is enough to make his cock pulse, which Lucifer has to feel with his hand right there.

“I can already imagine the headline, Sammy…” Finally, Lucifer moves his hand but the friction is not near enough with too many layers between them. “Would be the scandal of the month, wouldn’t it?” Deft fingers opening his belt. “But we can’t have that now, can we?” Sam hears more than feels his zipper being undone and he has to bite his lips to stop the sound trying to escape him. Lucifer’s eyes flicker to his mouth and his grin turns wicked. “We won’t take away the attention from what’s really important tonight, will we, Sammy?” Cool air hits the skin of Sam’s ass as Lucifer shoves his clothes down to his thighs. “I’m going to make you feel so good and you’ll be nice and quiet while I fuck you, not a sound, you understand?” 

Sam’s eyes have never left Lucifer’s, which are almost black now, clouded with lust and arousal, and he nods, bracing himself for what is to come. 

But what he expected doesn’t happen, Lucifer doesn’t spin him around. Instead, Lucifer grabs him by the shoulders and slams his back against the wall, feet not even touching the ground anymore. Instinctively, Sam wraps them around Lucifer’s waist. The man makes an approving sound and there’s a strong chest pressing against his as Lucifer’s lips claim his mouth for a scorching kiss. 

The necessary spells quickly prepare him and not half a minute later, Lucifer has pulled his erection out and Sam can feel the tip against his entrance, teasing the rim briefly before the one arm holding Sam up lets go a little. Sam sinks down and damn, Lucifer has to be helping this along with some kind of sex magic because a stunt like this should not go off without a hitch. 

As it is, Sam’s close to the edge already, with his back pressed against the wall, Lucifer filling him up and holding him in position while his own cock is trapped between dress shirts. 

Needless to say, no one has ever fucked Sam against a wall in this position. Sure, Sam did his fair share of this when he wanted to show off his strength but never would he have imagined the places to be reversed. 

Before Sam can think about it further, Lucifer derails his mind with the first roll of his hips, the angle perfect and wonderful and for a moment, Sam forgets where they are and moans.

Lucifer’s hand is on his mouth between one heartbeat and the next, smothering the next sound before it can escape, forcing Sam to breathe through his nose, which just won’t do, so Sam flicks his tongue against Lucifer’s palm. It doesn’t take long until Sam is sucking on the man’s index finger, revelling in the feeling that comes from being stuffed from both ends while his feet aren’t even touching the ground. 

Sam presses the heels of his feet into Lucifer’s lower back, trying to up the pace, because Sam needs more, needs it rougher, is already skirting so close to the edge it should be illegal and Lucifer growls in response and indulges him. 

Maintaining silence suddenly become a lot more difficult when Lucifer plows into him with abandon, grunting deep inside his throat. Sam has to lock his jaw and some whimpers still escape him, earning him a reproachful extra-strong thrust, which knocks the air right out of him. 

When it happens, his orgasm actually surprises him. Sam arches his back and spills between them, drops of come littering their shirts and some probably hitting the floor, but that’s nothing magic can’t undo. 

Lucifer stills, holding Sam up while he convulses around his cock, then thrusts two, three more times before he throws his head back, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes open and black, unseeingly directed towards the ceiling and Sam can actually feel Lucifer come deep inside of him. 

It takes ages until they are both coherent enough to pull their trousers back up, even longer to make themselves and the room presentable. 

Sam knows this part well, has played it often enough at the office. They share a kiss, lazy and relaxed, both of them sated from their orgasms. Then Sam turns around and heads for the door, aware that Lucifer will follow a few minutes later. 

Sam is almost at the door when a hand on his shoulder stops him, whirls him around to face Lucifer again. Sam narrows his eyes at the man, watches in confusion as he reaches inside his breast pocket and pulls something out. 

Lucifer averts his eyes briefly and the realisation hits Sam with more force than the amazing orgasm did. 

Lucifer is _nervous_. 

“What –“ is all Sam manages to get out before Lucifer grabs his hand and puts something into his palm. 

A key. There is an honest-to-Merlin fucking key in his hand. 

“Is that -?” Sam croaks, throat suddenly constricted. 

“Yes. Now don’t make a big deal out of it and get out of here before someone grows suspicious,” Lucifer hisses, shoving at him lightly to reinforce his point. 

But that just won’t do, Sam decides, closing the distance between them and crushing their lips together. Lucifer just gave him a key to his apartment and Sam won’t simply leave it at that. He pours all his emotions into that kiss and feels a wave of happiness, if he dares to call it that, course through him when Lucifer returns the kiss in kind. 

They are both breathless when they part. Lucifer draws back but Sam keeps him there with a hand on his neck and angles their foreheads together. The other man indulges him and for a few moments, they simply stand there and catch their breath. 

Until Lucifer starts shifting impatiently and Sam reasons he better counts his blessings. He laughs, low but joyous, presses another chaste kiss against Lucifer’s lips and finally leaves the cloak room. 

Sam will never forget the raw expression in Lucifer’s eyes in that moment. Not ever. 

His hand closes around the key and he knows he must be grinning like a lunatic but he doesn’t care. He was waiting for a gesture and Lucifer gave him one. Took his time, admittedly, but in the end, it was worth it. 

Sam knows he still won’t receive flowers or anything of the like. Yet the knowledge that Lucifer can look at him like that is enough for now. 

*

Draco’s head is still spinning, albeit in a positive way, several minutes after his conversation with Shacklebolt and Oberyn, which went as perfectly as any of them could have hoped. 

Knowing fully well that Charlie will be watching her mobile phone like a hawk, Draco escapes to the washrooms to shoot her a quick text message. As famous – or maybe infamous - as Draco is becoming regarding his use of Muggle tech, openly texting at a function such as this would be taking it a bit too far. But he promised Charlie to let her know if anything happened, and he is a man of his word. 

The clock is going on one am Draco notes as he returns to the ballroom, searching the crowd for his favourite wizard. The ones he finds first, in fact, are his parents. Of course Lucius wouldn’t miss the most important political fundraiser of the season, so Draco knew he was bound to meet his father tonight. Thankfully, neither of them had time for more than a brief hello, dripping with forced friendliness, respectively a genuine smile on Narcissa’s part. 

Draco should probably invite his mother over for tea some day. 

He eventually spies Harry to the right, chatting with several people, amongst them Ron and Hermione. 

No matter how immersed Draco was during the evening in his own conversations, he always had a sense of where Harry was, covertly keeping tabs on the man, just in case. So far, he seems to be doing fine yet Draco knows from personal experience that the tiniest thing can set someone off.

“Draco!” Judging by Harry’s tone, he is more than happy for the interruption. 

When Draco’s eyes fall on the witch next to him, Draco can’t fault him for it. Andromeda Tonks, while related to Draco, never had much contact with him since she had been disowned, so all Draco knows about the woman and the five year old boy asleep on a chair behind her is what Harry told him. 

Draco knows that Teddy is a delightful child (but he reasons that Harry is obligated to say that since Teddy is his godson) and Harry loves visiting him, yet not so much talking with his guardian. Apparently Andromeda’s hobby is bringing up topics that make Harry uncomfortable. 

“Ah, Draco! Finally I get to meet the young man who stole our Harry’s heart!” is Andromeda’s first sentence, proving the point. 

They shake hands. Draco draws in a breath to extend a greeting but the witch is already talking over him. 

“At first I really wasn’t sure what to think of you, mister, though I trust Harry and it’s his life after all. So if he wants to spend it with a former follower of the very man who is the reason there is so much loss in his life, that’s up to him.” 

Harry gives Draco an apologetic look while Hermione blushes and Ron shuffles uncomfortably on the spot. 

“But you’re here, at least, and Harry told me you were very supportive of his plans about the Lupin Centre, which means a lot to me, you see. Remus was my son in law, and that little boy there is his son, and the orphanage will keep his memory alive. Did Harry tell you what happened to Remus and my daughter?”

Draco swallows. He doesn’t miss how the colour slowly but surely flows from Harry’s face. “Yes. I’m truly sorry for your loss, Mrs Tonks.”

“Well, that’s five years late, isn’t it. Won’t bring them back. Teddy and I miss them every day and I make sure to tell the little one all about his parents, we owe it to them, don’t we?”

“Of course. Teddy is lucky he has such a caring guardian,” Draco says emphatically, hoping she will catch his intention of ending this particular string of conversation. 

“Well, Harry is wonderful with him, too! Aren’t you, dear? You should see him with the little one, no wonder Harry wants to help kids. You have such a big heart,” she tells an incredibly tense Harry and Draco tries to come up with a quick excuse to get rid of this witch. Ron and Hermione seem equally overwhelmed. 

“Everyone is so proud of you, Harry,” she adds, clasping Harry’s hand between her own. “After all that you’ve already given you keep on doing good for the community. You’re a true hero, my dear. Like I always say to –“

But whom she tells what will forever be a riddle to Draco since this is the moment that Harry snaps. 

“Excuse me for a moment, sorry,” he says, voice strong but quivering, and extricates his hand from Andromeda’s before fleeing out of the ballroom. 

It takes Draco, Ron, and Hermione a split second to coordinate and Draco gladly leaves dealing with Andromeda Tonks in their hands. She’s a relative of Ron’s as well, after all. 

Draco barely sees Harry’s ankle rounding a corner at the other end of the foyer, probably looking for a secluded place away from the ruckus and the memories. 

How often has Harry told Draco that he hates it most of all when people call him a hero? That he simply isn’t one, that he was just one puzzle piece amongst many during the war? 

When Draco reaches his partner, Harry is on the floor with his back against the wall and his head between his legs, taking shaky breaths and trembling slightly. 

Draco drops to his knees in front of him and covers Harry’s hands with his own, doesn’t talk, just tries to show him that he is not alone. 

It takes some time and a lot of rubbing soothing circles into Harry’s shoulders, but eventually his breathing evens out and the shaking fades away. 

Ron and Hermione have arrived a few minutes prior and are standing a little off from them, matching looks of worry on their faces and in Ron’s case, a bit doubtful of Draco’s abilities to take care of his best friend, if Draco interprets it right. 

Harry looks up, seeking Draco’s gaze. At times like this they don’t need to talk – Draco knows exactly what Harry would say, things like “Sorry”, probably wondering why he was fine for hours and only now was overcome by anxiety. Draco tries his best to answer with a look, squeezing Harry’s hands and placing a chaste kiss on his lips, just to show him that Draco is still there and not going anywhere, now or in the future. 

It wasn’t too long ago that their positions were reversed, that Draco was the one shaking and falling apart. 

“It’s fine,” Harry tells Ron and Hermione. “You should go back. Can’t miss your own fundraiser because of me.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighs, pity threatening to take over but to Draco’s surprise, Ron pulls his wife back. 

“All right, mate,” Ron says, proving he has, in fact, a lot more brain cells that Draco gives him credit for. 

Hermione is reluctant to leave but a few moments later, the hallway is empty safe for the two of them. 

“Thank you.”

Draco looks back to Harry. “I’m paying you back for all the times you did this for me,” he attempts to joke and surprisingly it even makes Harry laugh, even though it is strained. 

“We make quite the pair, don’t we?” Harry asks, half bitter, half fond, and thus expressing so much more than the rhetorical question ever could.

Draco smiles at him, brushing his thumbs across the skin of Harry’s palms. 

“We do.”

It is true, after all. They might not be the sanest wizards of their generation, but at least they have each other. Draco has never been surer of anything in his life. 

Whatever else life might throw at them, Harry and he will get through it – and the repercussions. 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s done - one year and 200k later! **Thank you all so much** for reading and for your lovely comments that regularly made my day and gave me the motivation to continue and the will to turn this into the best rape recovery fic I am capable of writing. I’m virtually hugging all of you! Your support meant and still means the world to me! 
> 
> **As to my future plans in this verse:** I still owe Dean and Cas two chapters in the timestamps, which will come, I promise! Aaaaand I might or might not have a few ideas for one-shots along the way to another idea for a smaller instalment in this verse. So it’s not over completely. 
> 
> But I’ll return to [Virus](http://archiveofourown.org/series/61000), [Reconstruction](http://archiveofourown.org/series/51577), and [The Good Fight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1667828/chapters/3539960), plus I’m co-writing a Supervengers Crossover and there’s a Destiel tumblr AU I’m working on. Aaaand another longer Draco/Harry story, which will be completely different from both Virus and Gorgeous (a little lighter in tone, too), called “Of Dragons and Men” or “Dragon Men” (it’s still a work in progress, that title). 
> 
> **And I thought that I might take prompts!** If you want to see something written within this verse, a scene in the future or how Jo’s and Em’s wedding goes down, or maybe just some good old-fashioned smut, tell me! Either in the comments or in [my tumblr ask box](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/ask+faq) (I think you can ask even if you don’t have an account?).  
>  I won’t write it right away, mind you. It might just be a drabble in the end. I might not even write it at all, if my Muse doesn't strike. But somehow I can’t leave this verse behind and maybe you’ll enable me a bit :)
> 
> Take care, y’all! Don’t be shy and use the comment function; I always reply!


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